LIBRARY  OF  THE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 

PRINCETON,  N.  J. 


PRESENTED  BY 


BR  85  .B9325  1883  v.l 
Bushnell,  Horace,  1802-1876. 
Selected  works  I 


"^e.ieLC.„      .iOFKSi 


S  E  RM  o  ]sr  s 


ow 


CHEIST  AND  HIS 


ist 


HOEAOE  BUSHl^^'ELL. 


NEW   YORK: 
CHARLES     SCRIBNER'S    SONS, 

743  AND    745    Broadway. 


COPTBIOHT  BT 

MABY  A.  BTJSHNELI^ 
1876. 


Tkow's 


■TKBEOTTPrD  BT  R.  H.  HOBBS,  PRINTING    AND  'booKBINOINO    ^O 

Hartford,  Conn.  205-213  Enst  12th  ^t.,    ^    ' 

NEW    YORK. 


TO 

JOSEPH    SAMPSON, 

OP    NEW    YORK. 

Itl    DEAR   FRIEND: 

H  «B»  -esigning  my  pastorship,  five  years  ago,  you  will  remember 
thbt  j'y-  put  it  before  me  to  consider  myself  engaged  now  in  a  "  Minis- 
try at  L>  ge;"  serving  in  it,  by  the  pen,  or  by  whatever  method,  accord- 
ing to  tf  ?  ability  left  me.  the  cause  we  both  have  made  our  own.  In 
this  modified  ministry,  I  have  had  the  sense  of  a  worthy  and  sacred 
charge  upon  me .  still  as  before,  and  in  it,  as  I  have  occupied,  I  seem 
also  to  have  prolonged,  my  life.  This,  and  another  volume,  on  The 
Yicarious  Sacrifice  which  is  ready  in  due  time  to  follow,  are  the 
principal  fruit  of  my  broken  industry.  Without  consent  obtained,  I 
venture  to  connect  them  with  your  name,  as  the  spontaneous  tribute  of 
my  true  respect  and  strong  personal  friendship. 

HORACE  HUSHNELL 
Hartford,  June  10. 1864. 


CONTENTS. 

I. 

CHRIST  WAITING  TO  PIND  ROOM. 

PAOB 

Luke  ii.  7 — "And  she  brought  forth  her  first-born  son,  and  wrapped 
him  in  swaddling  clothes,  and  laid  him  in  a  manger,  because 
there  was  no  room  for  them  in  the  inn." 9 

II. 

THE  GENTLENESS  OF  GOD. 
Ps  xviii.  35^ — "  Thy  gentleness  hath  made  me  great." 28 

III. 

THE  INSIGHT  OF  LOVE. 
Mark  xiv.  8. — "She  hath  done  what  she  could;  she  is  come  afore- 
hand  to  anoint  my  body  to  the  burying." 61 

lY. 

SALVATION  FOR  THE  LOST  CONDITION. 
Matt,  xviii.  11. — "For  the  Son  of  Man  is  come  to  save  that  wSich 
was  lost;' 11 

V. 

THE  FASTING   AND  TEMPTATION  OF  JESU^. 
Matt.  iv.  1,  2. — "  Then  was  Jesus  led  up  of  the  Spirit  into  the  wil- 
derness to  be  tempted  of  the  devil.     And  when  he  had  fasted 
forty  days  and  forty  nights,  he  was  afterward  an  hungered."    .    93 
1* 


VI  CONTENTS. 

VI. 

CONVICTION  OF  SIN  BY  THE  CROSS. 

PAGE 

John  xvi.  9-11. — "Of  sin,  because  they  believe  not  on  me.  Of 
rigliteousness,  because  I  go  to  the  Father,  and  ye  see  me  no 
more.     Of  judgment,  because  the  prince  of  this  world  is  judged."  116 

VII. 

CHRIST  ASLEEP. 
Matt.  viii.  24. — "And  behold  there  arose  a  great  tempest  in  the  sea, 
insomuch  that  the  ship  was  covered  with  the  waves;  but  he 
was  asleep." 139 

VIII. 

CHRISTIAN  ABILITY. 
James  iii.  4. — "Behold  also  the  ships,  which  though  they  be  so 
great,  and  are  driven  of  fierce  winds,  yet  are  they  turned  about 
with  a  very  small  helm,  whithersoever  the  governor  listeth."    .  161 

IX. 

INTEGRITY  AND  GRACE. 
Ps.  vii.  8. — "Judge  me  0  Lord  according  to  my  righteousness,  and 

according  to  mine  integrity  that  is  in  me." 180 

X. 

LIBERTY  AND  DISCIPLINE. 
Mark  ii.  19, 20. — "As  long  as  they  have  the  bridegroom  with  them, 
they  can  not  fast.     But  the  days  will  come,  when  the  bride- 
groom shall  be  taken  away  from  them,  and  then  shall  they  fast 
in  those  days." 201 

XI. 

CHRIST'S  AGONY,  OR  MORAL  SUFFERING. 
Luke  xxii.  44. — "And  being  in  an  agony  he  prayed  more  earnestly, 
and  his  sweat  was,  as  it  were,  great  drops  of  blood  falling  down 
to  the  ground." 225 


CONTENTS.  vii 

XII. 

THE  PHYSICAL  SUFFERING,   OR  CROSS  OP  CHRIST. 

PAOB 

EIeb.  ii.  10. — "For  it  became  him,  for  whom  are  all  things,  and  ty 
whom  are  all  things,  in  bringing  many  sons  unto  glory,  to  make 
the  captain  of  their  salvation  perfect  through  sufiferings."    .    .     24. 

XIII. 

SALVATION  BY  MAN. 
1  Cor  XV,  21. — "For  since  by  man  came  death,  by  man  came  also 
the  resurrection  of  the  dead." 271 

XIV. 

THE   BAD  CONSCIOUSNESS  TAKEN  AWAY. 
Heb.  X.  2. — "Because  that  the  worshipers,  once  purged,  should 
have  had  no  more  conscience  of  sins." 293 

XV. 

THE  BAD  MIND  MAKES  A  BAD  ELEMENT. 
John  viii.  48. — "Then  answered  the  Jews  and  said  unto  him — say 
we  not  well,  that  thou  art  a  Samaritan,  and  hast  a  devil?"  .    .312 

XVI. 

PRESENT  RELATIONS  OF  CHRIST  WITH  HIS  FOLLOWERS. 
John  xiv.  28. — "Ye  have  heard  how  I  said  unto  you,  I  go  away 

and  come  again  unto  you." .     .   331 

XVII. 

THE  WRATH  OF  THE  LAMB. 
Rev.  vi.  16,  11. — "And  said  to  the  mountains  and  rocks,  Fall  on 
U3  and   hide  us   from  the   face   of  him   that   sitteth   on  the 
throne,  and  from  the  wrath  of  the  Lamb.     For  the  great  day 
of  his  wrath  is  come;  and  who  shall  be  able  to  stand  ?"       .    .  351 


Viii  CONTENTS. 

XVIII. 

CHRISTIAN  FORGIVENESS. 

PAOB. 

Eph.  iv.  32. — "  Forgiving  one  anotlier,  even  as  God  for  Christ's  sake 

hath  forgiven  you." 372 

XIX. 

CHRIST  BEARING  THE  SiNS  OF  TRANSGRESSORS. 
Heb.  ix.  28. — "  So  Christ  was  once  ofifered  to  bear  the  sins  of  many."  393 

XX. 

THE  PUTTING  ON  OF  CHRIST. 
Rom.  xiii  14. — "But  put  ye  on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ."     .    ,    .    .413 

XXI. 

HEAVEN  OPENED. 
John  i.  51. — "And  he  saith  unto  him — Yerily,  verily,  I  say  unto 
you,  Hereafter  ye  shall  see  heaven  open,  and  the  angels  of  God 
ascending  and  descending  upon  the  Son  of  Man."      ....  434 


I. 

CHRISTWAITING  TO  FIND   ROOM, 


^^And  she  brought  forth  her  first-horn  son^  and  wrapped 
him  in  swaddling  clothes^  and  laid  him  in  a  manger^  be- 
cause there  wa^  no  room  for  them  in  the  inn^ — Luke  ii.  7. 

In  the  birth  and  birthplace  of  Jesus,  there  is  some- 
thing beautifully  correspondent  with  his  personal  for- 
tunes afterward,  and  also  with  the  fortunes  of  his  gospel, 
even  down  to  our  own  age  and  time.  He  comes  into 
the  world,  as  it  were  to  the  taxing,  and  there  is  scant 
room  for  him  even  at  that. 

A  Roman  decree  having  been  issued,  requiring  the 
people  to  repair  to  their  native  place  to  be  registered 
for  taxation,  Joseph  and  Mary  set  off  for  Bethlehem. 
The  khan  or  inn  of  the  village  is  full,  when  they  ar- 
rive, and,  being  humble  persons,  they  are  obliged  to 
find  a  place  in  the  stall  or  stable,  where  the  holy  child 
is  born.  It  so  happens,  not  by  any  slight  of  the 
guests,  in  which  they  mock  the  advent  of  the  child, 
for  he  makes  his  advent  only  as  the  child  of  two  very 
common  people.  But  there  is  a  great  concourse  and 
crowd — senators,  it  may  be,  land-owners,  merchants, 
money-changers,  tradesmen,  publicans,  peddlers,  men 
of  all  sorts~-and    the    most  Ibrward,    showiest,    best 


10  CHRIST    WAITING 

attended,  boldest  in  airs  of  consequence,  take  up  all  the 
places,  till  in  fact  no  place  is  left.  What  they  have  se- 
cured too  it  is  their  conceded  right  to  keep.  If  the 
carpenter  and  his  wife  are  in  a  plight,  people  as  hum- 
ble as  they  can  well  enough  take  the  stable,  when 
tliere  is  nothing  better  to  be  had. 

So  it  was,  and  perhaps  it  was  more  fitting  to  be  so; 
for  the  great  Messiah's  errand  allows  no  expectation  of 
patronage,  even  for  his  infancy.  He  comes  into  the 
world  and  finds  it  preoccupied.  A  marvelous  great 
world  it  is,  and  there  is  room  in  it  for  many  things ; 
room  for  wealth,  ambition,  pride,  show,  pleasure; 
room  for  trade,  society,  dissipation ;  room  for  powers, 
kingdoms,  armies  and  their  wars ;  but  for  him  there  is 
the  smallest  room  possible ;  room  in  the  stable  but  not 
in  the  inn.  There  he  begins  to  breathe,  and  at  that 
point  introduces  himself  into  his  human  life  as  a  resi- 
dent of  our  world — the  greatest  and  most  blessed 
event,  humble  as  the  guise  of  it  may  be,  that  has  ever 
transpired  among  mortals.  If  it  be  a  wonder  to  men's 
eyes  and  ears,  a  wonder  even  to  science  itself,  when  the 
flaming  air-stone  pitches  into  our  world,  as  a  stranger 
newly  arrived  out  of  parte  unknown  in  the  sky,  what 
shall  we  think  of  the  more  transcendent  fact,  that  the 
Eternal  Son  of  God  is  born  into  the  world ;  that  pro- 
ceeding forth  from  the  Father,  not  being  of  our  system 
or  sphere,  not  of  the  world,  he  has  come  as  a  Holy 
Thing  into  it — God  manifest  in  the  flesh,  the  Word 
made  flesh,  a  new  divine  man,  closeted  in  humanity, 
there  to  abide  and  work  until  he  has  restored  the  race 


TO    FIND    ROOM.  11 

itself  to  God !  Nor  is  this  wonderful  ani.uT.ciatlou  any 
the  less  welcome,  or  any  the  less  worthy  to  be  cele- 
brated by  the  hallelujahs  of  angels  and  men,  that  the, 
glorious  visitant  begins  to  breathe  in  a  stall.  Was 
there  not  a  certain  propriety  in  such  a  beginning,  con- 
sidered as  the  first  chapter  and  symbol  of  his  whole  his- 
tory, as  the  Saviour  and  Eedeemer  of  mankind  ? 

But  I  am  anticipating  my  subject,  viz.,  the  very  irri' 
pre-ssive  fact  that  Jesus  could  not  find  room  in  the  world, 
and  has  never  yet  been  able  to  find  it. 

I  do  not  understand,  you  will  observe,  that  this  par- 
ticular subject  is  formally  stated  or  asserted  in  my  text. 
I  only  conceive  that  the  birth  of  Jesus  most  aptly  in- 
troduces the  whole  subsequent  history  of  his  life,  and 
that  both  his  birth  and  life  as  aptly  represent  the  spir- 
itual fortunes  of  his  gospel  as  a  great  salvation  for  the 
world.  And  the  reason  why  Jesus  can  not  find  room 
for  his  gospel  is  closely  analogous  to  that  which  he  en- 
countered in  his  birth ;  viz.,  that  men's  hearts  are  pre- 
occupied. They  do  not  care,  in  general,  to  put  any  in- 
dignity on  Christ ;  they  would  prefer  not  to  do  it ;  but 
they  are  filled  to  the  full  with  their  own  objects  al- 
ready. It  is  now  as  then  and  then  as  now ;  the  selfish- 
ness and  self-accommodation,  the  coarseness,  the  want 
of  right  sensibility,  the  crowding,  eager  state  of  men  in 
a  world  too  small  for  their  ambition — all  these  preoc- 
cupy the  inn  of  their  affections,  leaving  only  the  stable, 
or  some  by-place,  in  their  hearts,  as  little  worthy  of  his 
occupancy  and  the  glorious  errand  on  which  he  comes. 

See  how  it  was.  with  him  in  his  life.     Herod  heard 


12  CHRIST    WAITING 

the  rumor  that  the  Messiah,  that  is,  the  king,  was  born, 
and  it  being  specially  clear  that  there  was  no  room  for 
two  kings  in  Galilee,  raised  a  slaughter  general  among 
the  children,  that  he  might  be  sure  of  getting  this  par- 
ticular  one  out  of  the  way.  Twelve  years  later  when 
Joseph  and  his  mother  turned  back  to  seek  the  child  at 
Jerusalem,  where  they  had  left  him,  and  found  him  sit- 
ting with  the  doctors  of  the  temple,  asking  them  ques- 
tions a'nd  astonishing  their  comprehension  by  his  an- 
swers ;  when  also  his  mother,  remonstrating  with  him 
for  remaining  behind,  hears  him  say  that  he  "  must  be 
about  his  Father's  business,"  and  goes  home  pondering 
his  strange  answer  in  her  heart ;  how  clear  is  it  that 
they,  none  of  them,  have  room,  even  if  they  would,  to 
take  in  the  conception  of  his  divine  childhood,  or  the 
history  preparing  in  it.  John  the  Baptist,  again,  even 
when  he  has  testified  in  the  Spirit  on  seeing  him  ap- 
proach— "  Behold  the  Lamb  of  God  that  taketh  away 
the  sins  of  the  world!"  and  has  all  but  refused  to  bap- 
tize him  because  of  his  superior  dignity,  grows  doubt- 
ful afterward,  yields  to  misgivings,  gets  perplexed, 
like  any  poor  half-seeing  sinner,  with  his  mystery,  and 
finally  sends  to  inquire  whether  he  is  really  the  Christ,  oi 
whether  some  other  is  still  to  be  looked  for  I  His  great 
ministry,  wonderful  in  its  dignity  and  power,  wins  but 
the  scantiest  hospitality ;  he  journeys  on  foot  through 
many  populous  towns  and  by  the  gates  of  many  pal- 
aces, sleeping  in  desert  places  of  the  mountains,  as  he 
slept  his  first  night  in  a  manger,  not  haying  where  to 
lay  his  head.     Nicodemus,  with  many  others,  probablj 


TO    FIND    ROOM.      .  IS 

in  the  higher  conditions  of  life,  felt  the  sense  of  some 
mysterious  dignity  in  him,  and  went,  even  by  night,  tc 
receive  lessons  of  spiritual  instruction  from  him,  yet 
never  took  him  to  his  house,  and  too  little  conceived 
him, to  so  much  as  break  silence  at  his  trial  by  a  word 
of  vindication.  The  learned  rabbis  could  have  bid 
him  welcome,  if  he  had  come  teaching  "  corban,"  or  the 
precise  mode  or  merit  of  baptizing  cups,  or  tithing  an- 
ise, but  when  he  spoke  to  them  of  judgment  and  mercy 
and  the  right  of  doing  good  on  Sundays,  they  had  no 
room,  in  their  little  theologies,  for  such  a  kind  of  doc- 
trine. His  own  disciples  got  but  the  slenderest  concep- 
tion of  his  person  and  mission  from  his  very  explicit 
teachings.  They  still  wanted  even  the  explanations  of 
his  parables  explained.  It  was  as  if  the  sun  had 
broken  out  upon  a  field  of  moles — there  was  a  wonder- 
ful incapacity  and  weakness  in  all  their  apprehensions ; 
he  shone  too  brightly  and  they  could  see  only  the  less. 
The  priests,  and  rabbis,  and  magistrates,  saw  enough 
in  him  to  be  afraid  of  him,  or  rather  of  his  power  over 
the  people.  They  charged  him,  before  Pilate,  with  a 
design  to  make  himself  king  instead  of  Caesar,  and 
when  he  answered,  in  effect,  that  he  came  only  to  be 
king  of  the  truth,  Pilate,  greatly  mystified  by  his  an- 
swer, and  the  more  that  he  had  the  sense  of  some 
strange  power  in  his  person,  wanted  still,  like  a  child, 
to  know  what  he  could  mean  by  the  truth  ?  On  the 
whole  it  can  not  be  said  that  Christ  ever  once  found 
room,  and  a  clear  receptivity  for  his  person,  any  where, 
during  his  mortal  life.      Mary  and  Martha  did  thcii 

■  2 


14  CHRIST    WAITING 

best  to  entertain  him  and  give  him  a  complete  hospital- 
ity, and  yet  their  hospitality  so  little  conceived  him  as 
to  assume  that  being  nicely  lodged,  and  complimented 
with  a  delicate  housewifery,  was  a  matter  of  much  more 
consequence  than  it  was;  even  more,  a  great  deal, 
than  to  fitly  receive  the  heaven-full  of  honor  and 
beauty  brought  into  their  house  in  his  person.  And  so 
it  may  be  truly  said  of  him  that  he  came  unto  his  own, 
and  his  own  received  him  not.  He  was  never  accepted 
as  a  guest  of  the  world  any  more  than  on  that  first 
night  in  the  inn.  There  was  not  room  enough  in  the 
world's  thought  and  feeling  to  hold  him,  or  even  to 
suffer  so  great  a  presence,  and  he  was  finally  expelled 
by  an  ecclesiastical  murder. 

At  the  descent  of  the  Spirit  there  was  certainly  a 
great  opening  in  the  minds  of  his  disciples  concerning 
him,  and  there  has  been  a  slow,  irregular,  and  difiicult 
progress  in  the  faith  and  perception  of  mankind  since 
that  day,  but  we  shall  greatly  mistake,  if  we  suppose 
that  Christ  has  ever  found  room  to  spread  himself  at  all 
in  the  world,  as  he  had  it  in  his  heart  to  do,  when  he 
came  into  it,  and  will  not  fail  to  do,  before  his  work  is 
done. 

Were  a  man  to  enter  some  great  cathedral  of  the  old 
continent,  of  which  there  are  many  hundreds,  sur-vey 
the  vaulted  arches  and  the  golden  tracery  above,  wan- 
der among  the  forests  of  pillars  on  which  they  rest, 
listen  to  the  music  of  choirs  and  catch  the  softened 
light  that  streams  through  sainted  forms  and  histories 
on    the    windows,    observe    the   company   of  priests, 


TOFINDROOM.  15 

gorgeously  arrayed,  chanting,  kneeling,  crossing  them- 
selves, and  wheeling  in  long  processions  before  the 
great  altar  loaded  with  gold  and  gems;  were  he  to 
look  into  the  long  tiers  of  side  chapels,  each  a  gorgeous 
temple,  with  an  altar  of  its  own  for  its  princely  family, 
adorned  with  costliest  mosaics,  and  surrounded,  in  the 
niches  of  the  walls,  with  statues  and  monumental 
groups  of  dead  ancestors  in  the  highest  forms  of  art, 
noting  also  the  living  princes  at  their  worship  there 
among  their  patriarchs  and  brothers  in  stone — spectator 
of  a  scene  so  imposing,  what  but  this  will  his  thought 
be :  "  surely  the  infant  of  the  manger  has  at  last  found 
room,  and  come  to  be  entertained  among  men  with  a 
magnificence  worthy  of  his  dignity."  But  if  he  looks 
again,  and  looks  a  little  farther  in — far  enough  in  to 
see  the  miserable  pride  of  self  and  power  that  lurks  un- 
der this  gorgeous  show,  the  mean  ideas  of  Christ,  the 
superstitions  held  instead  of  him,  the  bigotry,  the  ha- 
tred of  the  poor,  the  dismal  corruption  of  life — with 
how  deep  a  sigh  of  disappointment  will  he  confess: 
"alas,  the  manger  was  better  and  a  more  royal  honor!" 
So  if  we  speak  of  what  is  called  Christendom,  com- 
prising, as  it  does,  all  the  most  civilized  and  powerful 
nations  of  mankind,  those  most  forward  in  learning,  and 
science,  and  art,  and  commerce,  it  may  well  enough 
seem  to  us,  when  we  fix  the  name  Christendom — Christ- 
dominion — on  these  great  powers  of  the  earth,  that 
Christ  has  certainly  gotten  room,  so  far,  to  enter  and  hi 
glorified  in  human  society.  And  it  is  a  very  great 
thing,  doubtless,  for  Christ  to  be  so  far  admitted  to  liia 


16  CHKIST    WAITING 

kingly  honors — more,  however,  as  a  token  of  what  will 
sometime  appear,  than  as  a  measure  of  power  already- 
exerted.  Still  what  multitudes  of  out-lying  popula 
tions  are  there  that  have  never  heard  of  him.  And  the 
states  and  populations  that  acknowledge  him, — how 
unjust  are  their  laws,  how  intriguing  and  dishonest 
their  diplomacies,  how  cruel  their  wars,  what  oppres- 
sions do  they  put  upon  the  weak,  what  persecutions 
raise. against  the  good,  what  abuses  and  distortions  of 
God's  truth  do  they  perpetrate,  what  idolatries  and* 
mummeries  of  superstition  do  they  practice,  and,  to  in- 
clude all  in  one  general  summation,  how  little  of  Christy 
take  them  all  together,  appears  to  be  really  in  them. 
ISTow  and  then  a  saint  appears,  a  real  Christly  man,  but 
the  general  mass  are  sharp  for  money  and  dull  to 
Christ,  and  whether  sharp  or  dull,  are  for  the  most  part 
extremely  ignorant  as  regards  all  spiritual  knowledge, 
even  if  they  happen,  as  men,  to  be  specially  intelligent, 
or  practiced  much  in  philosophy.  The  savor  of  Christ, 
in  short,  is  so  weak  that  we  can  scarcely  get  the  sense 
of  it  once  in  a  day.  A  wind  blowing  off  from  his  cross 
might  almost  be  expected  to  carry  as  much  grace  with 
it — so  slight,  evanescent,  scarcely  perceptible,  doubt- 
fully real  is  the  evidence  shown  of  a  genuine  Christly 
power,  even  in  just  those  upper  tiers  of  humanity, 
which  are  called  the  Christendom,  or  Christ- dominion 
itself 

But  we  must  take  a  closer  inspection,  if  we  are  to 
see  how  very  little  room  Christ  has  yet  been  able  to 
obtain,   and  how  manv  things  conspire  to  cramp  the 


TO    FIND    ROOM.  1*1 

efficacy  and  narrow  down  tlie  sway  of  his  gospel. 
Great  multitudes,  it  is  well  understood,  utterly  reject 
him,  and  stay  fast  in  their  sins.  They  have  no  time  to 
be  religious,  or  the  sacrifices  are  too  great.  Some  are 
too  poor  to  have  any  heart  left,  and  some  are  too  rich — 
so  rich,  so  filled  up  with  goods,  that  a  camel  can  as 
well  get  through  a  needle's  eye,  as  Christ  get  into  their 
love.  Some  are  too  much  honored  to  receive  him,  and 
some  too  much  want  to  be.  Some  are  in  their  passions, 
some  in  their  pleasures,  some  in  their  expectations. 
Some  are  too  young  and  wait  to  give  him  only  the  dry 
remains  of  life,  after  the  natural  freshness  is  gone. 
Some  are  too  old  and  are  too  much  occupied  with  old 
recollections  and  stories  of  the  past  forever  telling,  to 
have  any  room  longer  for  his  reception.  Some  are  too 
ignorant,  and  think  they  must  learn  a  great  deal  before 
they  can  receive  him.  Others  know  too  much,  having 
stifled  their  capacity  already  in  the  dry-rot  of  books 
and  opinions.  The  great  world  thus,  under  sin,  even 
that  part  of  it  which  is  called  Christian,  is  very  much 
like  the  inn  at  Bethlehem,  preoccupied,  crowded  fall  in 
every  part,  so  that,  as  the  mother  of  Jesus  looked  up 
wistfully  to  the  guest-chambers  that  cold  night,  draw- 
ing her  Holy  Thing  to  her  bosom,  in  like  manner  Jesus 
himself  stands  at  the  door  of  these  multitudes,  knock- 
ing vainly,  till  his  head  is  filled  with  dew,  and  his 
locks  are  wet  with  the  drops  of  the  night. 

So  it  should  be,  as  you  will  easily  perceive  before- 
hand ;  for  Christianity  comes  into  the  world  by  suppo- 
sition, just  because  the  world  is  not  ready  to  receive  it. 

2* 


18  CHRIST    WAITING 

The  very  problem  it  proposes  is  to  get  room  wLere 
there  is  none,  to  open  a  heart  where  there  is  no  heart, 
to  regenerate  opposing  dispositions,  to  sweeten  soured 
affections,  to  beget  love  where  there  is  selfishness,  to 
institute  peace  in  the  elemental  war  of  the  soul's  dis- 
orders. This  being  true,  we  can  see  beforehand  that  the 
grand  main  difficulty  of  the  gospel  in  restoring  the 
world,  is  to  get  room  enough  opened  for  its  mighty 
renovations  to  work.  It  will  come  to  be  received 
where  there  is  no  receptivity.  Mankind  will  even 
seem  to  be  shutting  it  away  by  a  conspiracy  of  little- 
ness and  preoccupied  feeling,  when  formally  preparing 
to  receive  it. 

What  shall  Constantine,  the  first  convert  king  do,  for 
example,  when  he  enters  the  fold,  but  bring  in  with 
him  all  his  regal  powers  and  prerogatives,  and  wield 
them  for  the  furtherance  of  the  new  religion;  never 
once  imagining  the  fact  that,  in  doing  it,  he  was  bring- 
ing church  and  gospel  and  every  thing  belonging  to 
Christ,  directly  into  the  human  keeping  and  the  very 
nearly  insulting  patronage  of  the  state.  And  so  the 
gospel  is  to  be  kept  in  state  pupilage,  in  all  the  old- 
world  kingdoms,  down  to  the  present  day — officered, 
endowed,  regulated,  by  the  state  supremacy.  Spiritual 
gifts  have  no  place  under  the  political  regimen  of  course. 
Lay  ministries  are  a  disorder.  No  man  comes  to  min- 
ister because  he  is  called  of  God,  or  goes  because  he  ia 
sent  of  God,  but  he  buys  a  living,  or  he  has  it  given 
him,  as  he  might  in  the  army  or  the  post-office.  And 
so  the  grand,  heaven-wide,  gospel  goes  into  quarantine, 


TOFINDROOM.  T^ 

from  age  to  age,  getting  no  room  to  speak,  or  smite,  ot 
win,  or  save,  beyond  what  worldly  state-craft  gives  it. 
Call  we  this  making  room  for  the  gospel  ? 

Church-craft  meantime  has  been  quite  as  narrow, 
quite  as  sore  a  limitation  as  state-craft.  Thus  instead 
of  that  grand,  massive,  practically  educated  character, 
that  Christ  proposes  to  create  in  the  open  fields  of  duty, 
by  sturdy  encounter  with  wrong,  by  sacrifices  of  benefi- 
cence and  the  bloodier  sacrifices  of  heroic  testimony  foi 
the  truth,  it  contrives  a  finer,  saintlier,  more  superlative 
virtue,  to  be  trained  in  cells  and  nightly  vigils ! — ^poor, 
unchristly,  mean  imposture,  it  turns  out  to  be  of  course. 
To  give  the  church  the  prestige  of  a  monarchy,  under 
one  universal  head,  a  primacy  is  finally  created  in  the 
bishop  of  Eome,  and  now,  behold  the  august  father, 
occupied,  as  in  Christ's  name,  in  blessing  rosaries,  pre- 
paring holy  water,  receiving  the  sacred  pufis  of  censers, 
and  submitting  his  feet  to  the  devout  kisses  of  his  peo- 
ple !  O  how  wretched  and  barren  a  thing,  how  very 
like  to  a  poor  mummery  of  imposture,  have  these  eccle- 
siastics, contriving  thus  to  add  new  ornaments  and 
powers,  reduced  the  gospel  of  heaven's  love  to  men  I 

And  the  attempted  work  of  science,  calling  itself 
theology,  is  scarcely  more  equal  to  its  theme.  The 
subject  matter  outreach es,  how  visibly,  and  dwarfs  all 
the  little  pomps  of  the  supposed  scientific  endeavor. 
What  can  it  do,  when  trying,  in  fact,  to  measure  the 
sea  with  a  spoon !  A  great  question  it  soon  becomes, 
whether  Christian  forgiveness  covers  any  but  sins  com- 
mitted before  baptism ;    as  if  the  flow  of  God's  great 


20  CHRIST    WAITx'NG 

mercies  in  his  Son  could  be  stopped  bj  tbe  date  of  a 
baptism,  and  the  sins  of  his  children,  afterward,  left  to 
be  atoned  by  purgatorial  fires !  The  death  of  Christ  is 
conceived  and  taught,  for  whole  centuries,  as  being  a 
ransom  paid  to  the  devil ;  then,  after  so  many  centuries 
have  worn  the  superstition  fairly  out,  as  an  offering,  or 
suffering,  to  appease  the  wrath  of  God.  Meantime  it  is 
carefully  held,  to  save  God's  dignity  in  him,  that  he 
does  not  suffer  at  all  as  divine,  but  is  even  impassible; 
so  that  what  he  certainly  suffers  in  his  moral  sensibili- 
ties, even  because  they  are  perfect — all  to  make  the 
cross  an  expression  of  divine  feeling  powerful  on  the 
heart  of  sin — subsides  into  a  stifled,  unmoved,  im- 
movable mercy  that,  in  fact,  belongs  to  the  stones.  It 
becomes  a  great  article  of  opinion  also,  that  God  only 
wants  to  save  a  particular  number,  and  that  exactly 
is  the  number  He  predestinates.  Next,  to  coincide 
with  this,  Christ  is  shown  to  have  died  only  for  this 
particular  part  of  mankind.  Next  to  coincide  with 
this,  a  limited  or  special  grace  is  aflfi.rmed  under 
the  same  restrictions.  Regeneration,  again,  is  wrought 
by  baptism.  Repentance  subsides  into  doing  penance. 
And  the  forgiveness  of  sins  becomes  a  priestly  dispen- 
sation. 

But  the  most  remarkable  thing  of  all  is  that,  when 
the  old,  niggard  dogmas  of  a  bigot  age  and  habit  give 
way,  and  emancipated  souls  begin  to  look  for  a  new 
Christianity  and  a  broader,  worthier  faith,  just  there 
every  thing  great  in  the  gospel  vanishes  even  more 
strangely  than  before.     Faith  becomes  mere  opinion, 


TO    FIND    ROOM.  21 

love  a  natural  sentiment,  piety  itself  a  blossom  on  the 
wild  stock  of  nature.  Jesus,  the  Everlasting  Word, 
dwindles  to  a  mere  man.  The  Holy  Spirit  is  made  to 
be  very  nearly  identical  with  the  laws  of  the  soul.  God 
himself  too  is,  in  fact,  put  under  nature,  shut  in  back  of 
nature  and  required  to  stay  there  ;  the  incarnation,  the 
miracles,  the  Gethsemane,  the  Calvary,  all  the  flaming 
glories  of  the  gospel  are  stifled  as  extravagances,  and 
the  new  Christianity,  the  more  liberal,  more  advanced 
belief,  turns  out  to  be  a  discovery  that  we  are  living  in 
nature,  just  as  nature  makes  ns  live.  Salvation  there 
is  none,  nothing  is  left  for  a  gospel  but  development, 
with  a  little  human  help  from  the  very  excellent  per- 
son, Jesus. 

Now  the  blessed  Lord  wants  room,  we  all  agree ;  we 
even  profess  that  we  ourselves  want  mightily  to  be  en- 
larged. Why  then  is  it  always  turning  out,  hitherto, 
that  when  we  try  to  go  deepest,  we  drag  every  thing 
down  with  us?  What,  in  fact,  do  we  prove  but  that, 
when  we  undertake  to  shape  theologically  the  glorious 
mystery  of  salvation  by  Christ,  we  just  as  much  reduce 
it,  or  whittle  it  down,  as  human  thought  is  narrower 
and  tinier  than  the  grand  subject  matter  attempted. 

But  saddest  of  all  is  the  practical  depreciation  of 
Clirist,  or  of  what  he  will  do  as  a  Saviour,  experiment- 
ally, from  sin.  The  possibilities  of  liberty,  assurance, 
a  good  conscience,  a  mind  entered  into  rest,  are,  by  one 
means  or  another,  let  down,  obscured,  or  quite  taken 
away.  To  believe  much  is  enthusiasm,  to  attempt 
much,  fanaticism.     The  assumption  is,  that  Christ  will, 


22  CHRIST    WAIIING 

in  fact,  do  onl}^  a  little  for  us,  just  as  there  is  only  a  lit- 
tle done ;  when  the  very  sufficient  reason  is,  that  there 
is  only  a  little  allowed  to  be  done.  As  to  any  common 
fL»oting  with  the  ancient  saints  in  their  inspirations, 
guidances,  and  gifts — it  is  even  a  kind  of  presumptio.i 
to  think  of  it.  They  had  their  religion  at  first  hand, 
we  are  now  a  degree  farther  off.  They  had  the  inbirth 
of  God,  and  knew  him  by  the  immediate  knowledge  of 
the  heart.  "We  only  read  of  him  and  know  about  him 
and  operate  our  minds,  alas !  how  feebly,  toward  him, 
under  the  notions,  or  notional  truths,  gotten  hold  of  by 
our  understanding.  0  it  is  a  very  sad  picture !  Dear 
Lord  Jesus  can  it  never  be  that  better  room  shall  be 
given  thee? 

True  there  is  no  grace  of  Christ  that  will  suddenly 
make  us  perfect;  but  there  is  a  grace  that  will  take 
away  all  conscious  sinning,  as  long  as  we  sufficiently 
believe,  raising  us  above  the  dominating  power  of  sin 
into  a  state  of  divine  consciousness,  where  we  are  new- 
charactered,  as  it  were,  continually,  by  the  righteous- 
ness of  God,  spreading  itself  into  and  over  and  through 
the  faith,  by  which  we  are  trusted  to  his  mercy.  All 
this  Christ  will  do.  In  this  state  of  power  and  holy 
endowment,  superior  to  sin,  he  can,  he  will,  establish 
every  soul  that  makes  room  wide  enough  for  him  to 
enter  and  bestow  his  fullness.  He  will  be  a  Saviour, 
in  short,  just  as  mighty  and  complete  as  we  want  him 
to  be,  just  as  meager  and  partial  and  doubtfully  real  as 
we  require  him  to  be.  O  what  meaning  is  there,  in 
this  view,  in  the  apostle's  invocation — "That  he  would 


TO    FIND    ROOM.  23 

grant  jou,  according  to  the  riches  of  his  glory,  to  be 
strengthened  with  might  by  his  Spirit  in  the  inner 
man ;  ihat  Christ  may  dwell  in  your  hearts  by  faith ; 
that  ye,  being  rooted  and  grounded  in  love,  may  be 
able  to  comprehend,  with  all  saints,  what  is  the  length, 
and  breadth,  and  depth,  and  height;  and  to  know  the 
love  of  Christ  that  passeth  knowledge,  that  ye  might  be 
filled  with  all  the  fullness  of  God."  This  heavy,  long- 
drawn  sigh,  whose  wording  carries  such  a  weight  of 
promise  still — what  does  it  invoke  but  that  Christ  may 
somehow,  any  how,  get  fit  room,  as  he  never  yet  has 
done,  in  these  stunted  human  hearts. 

And  this  same  sigh  has  been  how  fit  a  prayer  for  all 
ages.  Probably  nothing  comparatively  of  the  power 
of  Christ,  as  a  gift  to  the  world,  has  ever  yet  been  seen 
or  realized  in  it.  And  a  main  part  of  the  difiiculty  is, 
that  Christ  is  a  grace  too  big  for  men's  thoughts,  and 
of  course  too  big  for  their  faith, — the  Eternal  Word  of 
God  robed  in  flesh,  the  humanly  manifested  love  and 
feeling  of  God,  a  free  justification  for  the  greatest  of 
sinners  and  for  all  sin,  a  power  of  victory  in  the  soul 
that  raises  it  above  temptation,  supports  it  in  peace, 
and  makes  obedience  itself  its  liberty.  Such  a  Christ 
of  salvation  fully  received,  embraced  in  the  plenitude 
of  his  gifts — what  fires  would  he  kindle,  what  tongues 
of  eloquence  loosen,  what  heroic  witnessings  inspire  I 
But,  as  yet,  the  disciples  are  commonly  men  of  only  a 
little  faith,  and  it  is  with  them  according  to  their  faith. 
They  too  often  almost  make  a  merit  of  having  no 
Dicrit,  and  think  it  even  a  part  of  Christian  modesty  to 


24  CHRIST    WAITING 

believe  that  Christ  will  do  for  them,  only  according  to 
what  they  miss,  or  really  do  not  undertake  for  them- 
selves. 

And  so  it  comes  to  pass,  my  brethren,  that  our  gos- 
pel fails,  hitherto,  of  all  its  due  honors,  because  we  so 
poorly  represent  the  worth  and  largeness  of  it.  What 
multitudes  are  there,  under  the  name  of  disciples,  who 
maintain  a  Christian  figure  scarcely  up  to  the  line  of 
common  respect — penurious,  little,  mean,  sordid,  foul 
in  their  imaginations,  low-minded,  coarse-minded  every 
way.  Until  Christ  gets  room  in  the  higher  spaces  of 
iheir  feeling,  and  theil*  consciousness  gets  ennobled  by 
a  worthier  and  fuller  reception,  it  must  be  so.  Others 
are  inconstant,  falling  away  so  feebly  as  to  put  a  weak 
look  on  the  gospel  itself;  as  if  it  were  only  able  to 
kindle  a  flare  in  the  passions,  not  to  establish  a  durable 
character.  This  too  must  be  so,  till  Christ  is  fully 
enough  received  to  be  the  head  of  their  new  capacity 
and  growth.  Multitudes,  again,  are  not  made  happy  as 
they  should  be,  wear  a  long-faced,  weary,  dissatisfied, 
legally  constrained  look,  any  thing  but  a  look  of  cour- 
age and  joy  and  blessed  contentation.  Yes,  and  for  the 
simple  reason  that  there  is  nothing  so  wretched,  so  very 
close  to  starvation,  as  a  little,  doubtfully  received  grace. 
True  joy  comes  by  hearts-full ;  and  when  there  is  room 
enough  given  for  Christ  to  flood  the  feeling,  the  peace 
becomes  a  river — never  till  then. 

Discordant  opinions  and  strifes  of  doctrines  endlessly 
propagated  are  another  scandal.     And  since  heads  are 


TO    FIND    ROOM.  25 

little  and  many,  full  of  fractious  and  gaunt  notions,  all 
horning  or  hoofing  each  other,  as  hungry  beasts  in  their 
stall,  what  wonder  is  it  if  they  raise  a  clatter  of  much 
discord?  ISTo,  the  true  hospitality  is  that  of  the  heart, 
and  if  only  the  grand  heart-world  of  the  race  were  set 
open  to  the  full  entertainment  of  Jesus,  there  would  be 
what  a  chiming  of  peace  and  unity  in  the  common  love. 
Why,  again,  since  Christianity  undertakes  to  convert 
the  world,  does  it  seem  to  almost  or  quite  fail  in  the 
slow  progress  it  makes?  Because,  I  answer,  Christ 
gets  no  room,  as  yet,  to  work,  and  be  the  fire  in  men's 
hearts  he  is  able  to  be.  We  undertake  for  him  as  by 
statecraft  and  churchcraft  and  priestcraft.  We  raise 
monasteries  for  him  in  one  age,  military  crusades  in 
another.  Raymond  Lull,  representing  a  large  class  of 
teachers,  undertook  to  make  the  gospel  so  logical  that 
he  could  bring  down  all  men  of  all  nations,  without  a 
peradventure,  before  it.  Some  in  our  day  are  gomg  to 
carry  every  thing  by  steam-ships  and  commerce ;  some 
by  science  and  the  schooling  of  heathen  children ;  some 
by  preaching  agents  adequately  backed  by  missionary 
boards ;  some  by  tracts  and  books.  But  the  work,  how- 
ever fitly  ordered  as  respects  the  machiner}^,  lingers, 
and  will  and  must  linger,  till  Christ  gets  room  to  be  a 
more  complete  inspiration  in  his  followers.  The}"  give 
him  the  stable  when  they  ought  to  be  giving  him  the 
inn,  put  him  in  the  lot  of  weakness,  keep  him  back 
from  his  victories,  shut  him  down  under  the  world, 
making  his  gospel,  thus,  such  a  secondary,  doubtfully 
real    affair,   that  it  has  to  be  always  debating  in  the 


26  CHRIST    WAITING 

evidences,  instead  of  being  its  own  evidence,  and 
marching  forward  in  its  own  mighty  power. 

But  what  most  of  all  grieves  me.  in  such  a  review,  is, 
that  Christ  himself  has  so  great  wrong  to  endure,  in 
tlie  slowness  and  low  faith  of  so  many  ages.  Why,  if  I 
had  a  friend,  who  was  always  making  me  to  appear 
weaker  and  meaner  than  I  am,  putting  the  flattest  con- 
struction possible  on  my  words  and  sayings,  professing 
still,  in  his  own  low  conduct,  to  represent  my  ideas  and 
principles,  protesting  the  great  advantage  he  gets,  from 
being  much  with  me,  in  just  those  things  where  he  is 
most  utterly  unlike  me — I  could  not  bear  him  even  for 
one  week,  I  should  denounce  him  utterly,  scouting  all 
terms  of  connection  with  him.  And  yet  Christ  has  a 
patience  large  enough  to  bear  us  still ;  for  he  came  to 
bear  even  our  sin,  and  he  will  not  start  from  his  bur- 
den, even  if  he  should  not  be  soon  through  with  it. 

All  the  sooner,  brethren,  ought  we  to  come  to  the 
heart  so  long  and  patiently  grieving  for  us.  Is  it  not 
time,  dear  friends,  that  Christ  our  Master  should  begin 
to  be  fitly  represented  by  his  people — received  in  liis 
true  grandeur  and  fullness  as  the  Lord  of  Life  and  Sav- 
iour of  all  mankind;  able  to  save  to  the  uttermost ;  a 
grace  all  victorious ;  light,  peace,  liberty,  and  power ; 
wisdom,  righteousness,  sanctification,  and  redemption, 
Be  it  yours  then  so  to  make  room  for  him,  even  accord- 
ing to  the  greatness  of  his  power — length,  breadth, 
de})th,  height.  Be  no  more  straitened  in  your  own 
bowels,  stretch  3'ourselves  to  the  measure  of  the  statu ru 
of  the  fullness  of  Christ.     Expect  to  be  all  that  he  will 


TO     FIND     ROOM.  27 

make  you,  and  that  you  may  be,  open  your  whole 
heart  to  him  broad  as  the  sea.  Give  him  all  the  widest 
spaces  of  your  feeling — guest-chambers  opened  by  your 
loving  hospitality.  Challenge  for  him  his  right  to  be 
now  received  by  his  disciples,  as  he  never  yet  has  been. 
Tell  what  changes  and  wondrous  new  creations  will  ap- 
pear, when  he  finally  breaks  full-orbed  on  human  ex- 
perience— his  true  second  coming  in  power  and  great 
glory.  For  this  great  consummation  it  is  that  every 
thing  is  preparing,  and  if  there  be  voices  and  calls 
chiming  through  the  spaces  round  us,  which,  for  deaf- 
ness, W3  have  all  these  ages  failed  to  hear,  what  is  their 
burden  but  this — Lift  up  your  heads,  0  ye  gates,  and 
be  ye  lifted  up,  ye  everlasting  doors,  and  the  King  of 
Glory  shall  como  in. 


II. 

THE   GENTLENESS   OF   GOD 


"77??/  gentleness  hath  made  me  great." — Ps.  xviii.  35. 

Gentleness  in  a  deity-'-what  other  religion  ever 
took  up  such  a  thoaght?  When  the  coarse  mind  of 
sin  makes  up  gods  and  a  religion  by  its  own  natural 
light,  the  gods,  it  will  be  seen,  reveal  both  the  coarse- 
ness and  the  sin  together,  as  they  properly  should. 
They  are  made  great  as  being  great  in  force,  and  terri- 
ble in  their  resentm ";nts.  They  are  mounted  on  tigers, 
hung  about  with  snakes,  cleave  the  sea  with  tridents, 
pound  the  sky  with  thunders,  blow  tempests  out  of 
their  cheeks,  send  murrain  upon  the  cattle,  and  pesti- 
lence on  the  cities  and  kingdoms  of  other  gods — always 
raging  in  some  lust  or  jealousy,  or  scaring  the  world 
by  some  vengeful  portent. 

Just  opposite  to  all  these,  the  great  Grod  and  creator 
of  the  world,  the  God  of  revelation,  the  God  and  Fa- 
ther of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  contrives  to  be  a  gentle 
being;  even  hiding  his  power,  and  withholding  the 
stress  of  his  will,  that  he  may  put  confidence  and  cour- 
age in  the  feeling  of  his  children.  Let  us  not  shrink 
then  from  this  epithet  of  scripture,  as  if  it  must  imply 
some  derogation  from   God's  real  greatness  and  maj- 


THE     GENTLENESS    OF    GOD.  '20 

estj;  for  we  are  much  more  likel}^  to  reach  the  impros- 
sioti,  before  we  have  done,  that  precisely  here  do  liia 
greatness  and  majestj^  culminate. 

What  then,  first  of  all,  do  we  mean  by  gentleness? 
To  call  it  sweetness  of  temper,  kindness,  patience,  flexi- 
bility, indecisiveness,  does  not  really  distinguish  it. 
We  shall  best  come  at  the  true  idea,  if  we  ask  what  it 
means  when  applied  to  a  course  of  treatment.  When 
you  speak,  for  example,  of  dealing  gently  with  an  en- 
emy, you  mean  that,  instead  of  trying  to  force  a  point 
straight  through  with  him,  you  will  give  him  time,  and 
ply  him  indirectly  with  such  measures  and  modes  of  for- 
bearance as  will  put  him  on  different  thoughts,  and 
finally  turn  him  to  a  better  mind.  Here  then  is  the 
true  conception  of  God's  gentleness.  It  lies  in  his  con 
senting  to  the  use  of  indirection,  as  a  way  of  gaining  his 
adversaries.  It  means  that  he  does  not  set  himself,  aa 
a  ruler,  to  drive  his  purpose  straight  through,  but  that, 
consciously  wise  and  right,  abiding  in  his  purposes 
with  majestic  confidence,  and  expecting  to  reign  with  a 
finally  established  supremacy,  he  is  only  too  great  to 
fly  at  his  adversary,  and  force  him  to  the  wall,  if  he 
does  not  instantly  surrender;  that,  instead  of  coming 
down  upon  him  thus,  in  a  manner  of  direct  onset,  to 
carry  his  immediate  submission  by  storm,  he  lays  gentle 
siege  to  him,  waiting  for  his  willing  assent  and  choice. 
He  allows  dissent  for  the  present,  defers  to  prejudice, 
watches  for  the  cooling  of  passion,  gives  room  and 
space,  for  the  weaknesses  of  our  unreasonable  and  per- 
verse habit  to  play  themselves  out,  and  so  by  leading 

3* 


30  THE    GEN-TLEXESS    OF    GOD. 

US  round,  tljrongli  long  courses  of  kind  but  fairliful  ex- 
ercise,  he  counts  on  bringing  us  out  into  the  wtn^s  of 
obedience  and  duty  freelj  chosen.  Forc^e  and  crude 
ab.-olutism  ard  thus  put  by ;  the  irritations  of  a  jealous 
littleness  have  no  place ;  and  the  great  God  and  Fa- 
ther^ intent  on  making  his  children  great,  follows  them 
and  plies  them  with  the  gracious  indirections  of  a  faith- 
ful and  patient  love. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  add  that  there  are  many 
kinds  of  indirection,  which  are  wdde,  as  possible,  of  any 
character  of  gentleness.  All  policy,  in  the  bad  sense 
of  the  term,  is  indirection.  A  simply  wise  expedient 
has  often  this  character.  But  the  indirections  of  God 
are  those  of  a  ruler,  perfectly  secure  and  sovereign,  and 
their  object  is,  not  to  turn  a  point  of  interest  for  him- 
self, but  simply  to  advance  and  make  great  the  un- 
worthy and  disobedient  subjects  of  his  goodness. 

This  character  of  gentleness  in  God's  treatment,  you 
will  thus  perceive,  is  one  of  the  greatest  spiritual  beauty 
and  majesty,  and  one  that  ought  to  affect  us  most  ten- 
derly in  all  our  sentiments  and  choices.  And  that  we 
may  have  it  in  its  true  estimation,  observe,  first  of  all, 
how  far  off  it  is  from  the  practice  and  even  capacity 
generall}^  of  mankind.  We  can  do  almost  any  thing 
more  easily  than  consent  to  use  any  sort  of  indirection, 
when  we  are  resisted  in  the  exercise  of  authority,  or  en- 
counter another  at  some  point  of  violated  right. 

There  is  a  more  frequent  approach  to  gentleness,  in 
the  parental  relation,  than  any  where  else  among  men. 


THE    GENTLENESS    OF    GOD.  8l 

And  3^et  even  here,  how  common  is  the  weak  display 
of  a  violent,  autocratic  manner,  in  the  name  of  author- 
ity and  government.  Seeing  the  child  daring  to  resist 
his  will,  the  parent  is,  how  often,  foolishly  exasperated. 
With  a  flush  of  anger  and  a  stern,  hard  voice,  he  raises 
the  issue  of  peremptory  obedience;  and  when,  either 
b}^  force  oi-  without,  he  has  carried  his  way,  he  proba- 
bly congratulates  himself  that  he  has  been  faithful 
enough  to  break  his  child's  will.  Whereas,  raising  an 
issue  between  his  own  passions  and  his  child's  mere 
fears,  he  is  quite  as  likely  to  have  broken  down  his 
conscience  as  his  will,  unnerving  all  the  forces  of  char- 
acter and  capacities  of  great  manhood  in  him  for  life. 
Alas,  how  many  parents,  misnamed  fathers  and  mothers, 
fancy,  in  this  manner,  that  when  self-respect  is  com- 
pletely demolished  in  their  poor  defenseless  child,  the 
family  government  is  established.  They  fall  into  this 
barbarity,  just  because  they  have  too  little  firmness  to 
hold  their  ground  in  any  way  of  indirection  or  gentle- 
ness. They  are  violent  because  they  are  weak,  and 
then  the  conscious  wrong  of  their  violence  weakens 
them  still  farther,  turning  them,  after  the  occasion  is 
past,  to  such  a  misgiving,  half  apologizing  manner,  as 
just  completes  their  weakness. 

It  will  also  be  observed,  almost  universally,  among 
men,  that  where  one  comes  to  an  issue  of  any  kind 
with  another,  matters  are  pressed  to  a  direct  point- 
blank  Yes  or  No.  If  it  is  a  case  of  personal  wrong,  or 
a  quarrel  of  any  kind,  the  parties  face  each  other,  pride 
against  pride,  passion  against  passion,  and  the  hot  e&- 


82  THE    GENTLENESS    OF    GOD. 

deavor  is  to  storm  a  way  tlirongh  to  victory.  There  ia 
no  indirection  nsed  to  soften  the  adversary,  no  waiting 
for  time,  nothing  meets  the  feeling  of  the  moment  but 
to  bring  him  down  upon  the  issue,  and  floor  him  by  a 
direct  assault.  To  redress  the  injury  by  gentleness,  to 
humble  an  adversary  by  his  own  reflections,  and  tame 
his  will  by  the  circuitous  approach  of  forbearance  and 
a  siege  of  true  suggestion — that  is  not  the  manner  of 
men,  but  only  of  God. 

True  gentleness,  we  thus  perceive,  is  a  character  too 
great  for  any  but  the  greatest  and  most  divinely  tem- 
pered souls.  And  yet  how  ready  are  many  to  infer 
that,  since  God  is  omnipotent,  he  must  needs  have  it  as 
a  way  of  majesty,  to  carry  all  his  points  through  to 
their  issue  by  force,  just  as  they  w^ould  do  themselves. 
What,  in  their  view,  is  it  for  God  to  be  omnipotent,  but 
to  drive  his  chariot  where  he  will.  Even  Christian 
theologians,  knowing  that  he  has  force  enough  to  carry 
his  points  at  will,  make  out  pictures  of  his  sovereignty, 
not  seldom,  that  stamp  it  as  a  remorseless  absolutism. 
They  do  not  remember  that  it  is  man,  he  that  has  no 
force,  who  wants  to  carry  every  thing  by  force,  and 
that  God  is  a  being  too  great  for  this  kind  of  infirmity  ^ 
that,  having  all  power,  he  glories  in  the  hiding  of  his 
power;  that  holding  the  worlds  in  the  hollow  of  hig 
hand,  and  causing  heaven's  pillars  to  shake  at  his  re- 
proof, he  still  counts  it  the  only  true  gentleness  for 
him  to  bend,  and  wait,  and  reason  with  his  adversary, 
and  turn  him  round  by  his  strong  Providence,  till  he 
is  gained  to  repentance  and  a  volunteer  obedience. 


THE    GEiN-TLENESS    OF    GOD.  83 

But  God  maintains  a  government  of  law,  it  will  be 
remembered,  and  enforces  his  law  bj  jast  penalties, 
and  what  room  is  there  for  gentleness  in  a  government 
of  law  ?  All  room,  I  answer ;  for  how  shall  he  gain  us 
to  his  law  as  good  and  right,  if  he  does  not  give  us 
time  to  make  the  discovery  of  what  it  is?  To  receive 
law  because  we  are  crammed  with  it,  is  not  to  receive  it 
as  law,  but  only  to  receive  it  as  force,  and  God  would 
spurn  that  kind  of  obedience,  even  from  the  meanest  of 
his  subjects.  He  wants  our  intelligent,  free  choice  of 
duty — that  we  should  have  it  in  love,  nay  have  it  even 
in  liberty.  Doubtless  it  is  true  that  he  will  finally  pun- 
ish the  incorrigible ;  but  he  need  not  therefore,  like  some 
weak,  mortal  despot,  hurry  up  his  force,  and  drive 
straight  in  upon  his  mark.  If  he  were  consciously  a 
little  faint-hearted  he  would,  but  he  is  great  enough  in 
his  firmness  to  be  gentle  and  wait. 

But  some  evidence -will  be  demanded  that  God  pur 
sues  any  such  method  of  indirection,  or  of  rectoral  gen 
tleness  with  us.  See  then,  first  of  all,  how  openly  he 
takes  this  attitude  in  the  scriptures. 

"When  our  first  father  breaks  through  law,  by  his 
act  of  sin,  he  does  not  strike  him  down  by  his  thunders, 
but  he  holds  them  back,  comes  to  him  even  with  a 
word  of  promise,  and  sends  him  forth  into  the  rough 
tiials  of  a  world  unparadised  by  guilt,  to  work,  and 
suffer,  and  learn,  and,  when  he  will,  to  turn  and  live. 
The  ten  brothers  of  Joseph  are  managed  in  the  same 
way.     When  they  could  not  speak  peaceably  to  him, 


34  THE    GENTLENESS    OF    GOD. 

or  even  endure  his  presence  in  the  flimily,  God  lets  tliera 
sell  liim  to  the  Egyptians,  then  sends  them  down  to 
Egj^pt,  by  the  instigations  of  famine,  and  passes  them 
back  and  forth  with  supplies  to  their  father,  allowing 
them  to  feed  even  the  life  of  their  bodies  out  of  Joseph's 
bountj;  till  finally,  when  he  is  revealed  as  their  brother 
and  their  father's  son,  they  are  seen  doing  exactly  what 
they  had  sworn  in  their  wrath  should  never  be  done — 
bowing  their  sheaf  to  the  sheaf  of  Joseph.  Here  too  is 
the  solution  of  that  very  strange  chapter  of  history,  the 
forty  years'  march  in  the  wilderness.  The  people  were 
a  slave-born  people,  having  all  the  vices,  superstitions, 
and  unmanly  weaknesses,  that  belong  to  slavery.  God 
.will  not  settle  his  land  with  such,  and  no  thunders  or 
earthquakes  of  discipline  can  drive  the  inbred  weak- 
ness suddenly  out  of  them.  So  he  takes  the  indirect 
method,  puts  them  on  a  milling  of  time  and  trial, 
marches  them  round  and  round  to  ventilate  their  low 
passions,  lets  some  die  and  others  be  born,  till  finally 
they  become  quite  another  people,  and  are  fitted  to  in- 
augurate a  new  history. 

But  I  need  not  multiply  these  minor  examples,  when 
it  is  the  very  genius  of  Christianity  itself  to  prevail 
with  man,  or  bring  him  back  to  obedience  and  life  by  a 
course  of  loving  indirection.  What  we  call-  the  gospel 
is  only  a  translation,  so  to  speak,  of  the  gentleness  of 
God—a  matter  in  the  world  of  fact,  answering  to  a 
higher  matter,  antecedent,  in  the  magnanimity  of  God. 
I  do  not  say  that  this  gospel  is  a  mere  effusion  of  divine 
sentiment  apart  from  all  counsel  and  government.     It 


THE    GENTLENESS    OF    GOD.  85 

comes  by  counsel  older  than  the  world's  foundations. 
The  salvation  it  brings  is  a  governmental  salvation. 
It  is,  at  once,  the  crown  of  God's  purposes  and  of  his 
governmental  order.  And  the  gentleness  of  God  must 
institute  this  second  chapter  of  gracious  indirection,  be- 
cause no  scheme  of  rule  could  issue  more  directly  in 
good  without  it.  For  it  was  impossible  in  the  nature 
of  things  that  mere  law — precept  driven  home  by  the 
forces  of  penalty — should  ever  establish  a  really  princi- 
pled obedience  in  us.  How  shall  we  gladl}^  obey  and 
serve  in  love,  which  is  the  only  obedience  having  any 
true  character,  till  we  have  had  time  to  make  some  ex- 
periments, try  some  deviations,  sting  ourselves  in  some 
bitter  pains  of  trial,  and  so  come  round  into  the  law 
freely  chosen,  because  we  have  found  how  good  it  is ; 
and,  what  is  more  than  all,  have  seen  how  good  God 
himself  thinks  it  to  be,  from  what  is  revealed  in  that 
wondrous  indirection  of  grace,  the  incarnate  life  and 
cross  of  Jesus.  Here  the  very  plan  is  to  carry  the  pre- 
cept of  law  by  motives  higher  than  force ;  by  feeling, 
and  character,  and  sacrifice.  We  could  not  be  driven 
out  of  sin  by  the  direct  thrust  of  omnipotence ;  for  to 
be  thus  driven  out  is  to  be  in  it  still.  But  we  could  be 
overcome  by  the  argument  of  the  cross,  and  by  voices 
that  derive  a  quality  from  suffering  and  sorrow.  And 
thus  it  is  that  we  forsake  our  sins,  at  the  call  of  Jesus 
and  his  cross,  freely,  embracing  thus  in  trust,  what  in 
willfulness  and  ignorance  we  rejected. 

ISTor  does  it  vsiry  at  all  our  account  of  this  gospel, 
\hat  the  Holy  vSpirit  works  concurrently   in  it,   with 


36  THE    GENTLENESS    OF    GOD. 

Christ  and  his  cross.  For  it  is  not  trne,  as  some  CLris- 
tian  teachers  imagine,  that  the  Holy  Spirit  works  con- 
version by  a  direct,  soul-renewing  fiat  or  silent  thun(l(3r« 
stroke  of  omnipotence.  He  too  works  by  indirection, 
not  by  any  short  method  ot  absolute  will.  Working 
efBciently  and,  in  a  certain  sense,  immediately  in  the  man, 
or  subject,  he  still  circles  round  the  will,  doing  it  respect 
by  laying  no  force  upon  it,  and  only  raising  appeals  to 
it  from  what  he  puts  in  the  mind,  the  conscience,  the 
memory,  the  sense  of  want,  the  fears  excited,  the  aspi- 
rations kindled.  He  moves  upon  it  thus  by  a  siege, 
and  not  by  a  fiat,  carries  it  finally  by  a  process  of  cir- 
cumvallation,  commonly  much  longer  even  than  the 
ministry  of  Jesus.  He  begins  with  the  child,  opening 
his  little  nature  to  gleams  of  religious  truth  and  feeling 
— at  the  family  prayers,  in  his  solitary  hours  and 
dreams,  in  the  songs  of  praise  that  warble  on  the 
strings  of  his  soul,  and  among  the  heavenly  affinities  of 
his  religious  nature.  And  thenceforward  he  goes  with 
him,  in  all  the  future  changes  and  unfoldings  of  his  life, 
turning  his  thoughts,  raising  tender  questions  in  him, 
working  private  bosom -scenes  in  his  feeling,  forcing 
nothing,  but  pleading  and  insinuating  every  thing 
good;  a  better  presence  keeping  him  company,  and 
preparing,  by  all  modes  of  skill  and  holy  inducement, 
to  make  him  great.  So  that,  if  we  could  follow^  a  soul 
onward  in  its  life-history,  we  should  see  a  Spirit- history 
running  parallel  with  it.  And  when  it  is  really  born 
of  God,  it  will  be  the  result  of  what  the  Spirit  has 
wrought,    by   a   long,    and   various,    and    subtle,    and 


THE    GENTLENESS    OF    GOD.  87 

beautiful  process,   too  delicate  for  hunuin  thought  to 
trace. 

Holding  this  view  of  God's  gentleness  in  the  treat- 
moiit  of  souls,  and  finding  even  the  Christian  gospel  in 
it,  we  ought  also  to  find  that  his  whole  management  of 
us  and  the  world  corresponds.  Is  it  so — is  there  such 
a  (correspondence? 

See,  some  will  say,  what  terrible  forces  we  have 
ravening  and  pouring  inevitably  on  about  us  day  and 
night — roaring  seas,  wild  hurricanes,  thunder-shocks 
that  split  the  heavens,  earthquakes  spUtting  the  very 
world's  body  itself,  heat  and  cold,  drought  and  deluge, 
pestilences  and  deaths  in  all  forms.  AVhat  is  there  to 
be  seen  but  a  terrible,  inexorable  going  on,  still  on, 
everywhere.  The  fixed  laws  everywhere  refuse  to 
bend,  hearing  no  prayers,  the  great  worlds  fly  through 
heaven  as  if  slung  by  the  Almighty  like  the  smooth 
stone  of  David,  and  the  atoms  rush  together  in  their  in- 
divertible aflB.nities,  like  the  simples  of  gunpowder 
touched  by  fire,  refusing  to  consider  any  body.  Where 
then  is  the  gentleness  of  such  a  God  as  we  have  signal- 
ed to  us,  in  these  unpitying,  inexorable,  fated  powers 
of , the  world  ?  Is  it  such  a  God  that  moves  by  indirec- 
tion? Yes,  and  that  all  the  more  properly,  just  be- 
cause these  signs  of  earth  and  heaven,  these  undiverted, 
undivertible,  all-demolishing  and  terrible  forces  permit 
liim  to  do  it.  He  now  can  hide  his  omnipotence,  for  a 
time,  just  at  the  point  where  it  touches  us ;  he  can  set 
bis  will  behind  his  love,  for  to-day  and  possibly  to 

4 


6S  THE     GENTLENESS     OF     <JOD. 

morrow;  simply  because  he  has  these  majestic  inexorar 
bilities  for  the  rear-guard  of  his  mercies.  For  we  can 
not  despise  him  now,  when  he  bends  to  us  in  favor, 
because  it  is  the  bending,  we  may  see,  of  firmness, 
Able  to  use  force,  he  can  now  use  character,  and  time, 
and  kindness.  Eeal  gentleness  in  him,  as  in  every 
other  being,  supposes  counsel,  order,  end,  and  a  de- 
terminate will.  A  weak  man  can  be  weak  and  that  is 
all.  Not  even  a  weak  w^oman  can  be  properly  called 
gentle.  No  woman  will  so  much  impress  others  by  her 
gentleness,  when  she  is  gentle,  as  one  that  has  great 
firmness  and  decision.  And  so  it  is  the  firm,  great 
God,  he  that  goes  on  so  inflexibly  in  the  laws,  and  the 
inexorable  forces  and  causes  of  the  creation — He  it  is 
that  can,  with  so  much  better  dignity,  gentle  himself  to 
a  child  or  a  sinner. 

See  then  how  it  goes  with  us  in  God's  management 
of  our  experience.  Doing  every  thing  to  work  on  our 
feeling,  temperament,  thought,  w^ill,  and  so  on  our  eter- 
nal character,  he  still  does  nothing  by  direct  impul- 
sion. It  is  with  us  here,  in  ever}^  thing,  as  it  was  with 
Jonah  when  the  Lord  sent  him  to  Nineveh.  It  w^as  a 
good  long  journey  inland,  but  Jonah  steers  for  Joppa, 
straight  the  other  waj^,  and  there  puts  to  sea,  sailing  off 
upon  it,  and  then  under  it  and  through  the  belly  of 
hell,  and  comes  to  land  nobody  knows  where.  After 
much  perambulation,  he  gets  to  Nineveh  and  gives  his 
message  doggedly,  finally  to  be  tamed  by  a  turn  of  hot 
v/eather  and  the  wilting  of  a  gourd.  Just  so  goes  the 
course  of  a  soul  whom  God  is  training  for  obedience 


THE     GENTLENESS    OF    GOD.  89 

and  life.  It  may  be  the  case  of  a  young  man,  setting 
off  willfully,  with  his  face  turned  away  from  GocL 
Whereupon  God  lets  him  please  himself  a  little  in 
his  folly,  and  finally  pitch  himself  into  vice,  there  to 
learn,  by  the  bitter  woes  of  his  thraldom,  how  nuu  h 
better  God  is  to  him  than  he  is  to  himself,  how  much 
worthier  of  trust  than  he  ever  can  be  to  himself  Or 
he  takes,  it  may  be,  a  longer  course  with  him — gives 
him  a  turn  of  sickness,  then  of  bankruptcj^,  then  of  de- 
sertion by  friends,  then  of  slander  by  enemies,  taming 
thus  his  pride,  sobering  his  feeling,  making  the  world 
change  color,  but  not  yet  gaining  him  to  the  better  life. 
Then  he  fetches  "him  out  of  his  disasters  by  unexpected 
vindications  and  gifts  of  mercy,  such  as  soften  unwont- 
edly  the  pitch  of  his  sensibilities.  A  faithful  Christian 
wife,  gilding  his  lot  of  adversity  before,  by  her  gentle 
cares,  and  quite  as  much,  his  recovery  now,  by  the 
beautiful  spirit  she  has  formed  in  his  and  her  chiklren, 
by  her  faithful  training — making  them  an  honor  to  him 
as  to  herself — wins  upon  his  willful  habit,  melts  into 
his  feeling,  and  operates  a  change  in  his  temperament 
itself  Meantime  his  years  will  have  been  setting  him 
on,  by  a  silent  drift,  where  his  will  would  never  carry 
him.,  and  changing,  in  fact,  the  current  of  his  inclina- 
tion itself  Till  at  length,  dissatisfied  with  himself,  as 
he  is  more  softened  to  God,  and  more  softened  to  God, 
as  he  is  more  diverted  from  the  satisfaction  he  once  had 
in  himself,  he  turns,  with  deliberate  consent,  to  the  call 
of  Jesus,  and  finds  what  seemed  to  be  a  yoke,  to  be 
easy  as  liberty  itself 


40  THE    GENTLENESS    OF    GOD. 

The  change  is  great,  na}^  almost  total  in  Ms  life,  and 
yet  it  has  been  carried  by  a  process  of  indirection  so 
delicate,  that  he  is  scarcely  sensible  by  what  steps  and 
curiously  turned  methods  of  skill  it  has  been  brought 
to  pass.  And  so  Grod  is  managing  every  man,  hj  a 
process  and  history  of  his  own ;  for  he  handles  him  aa 
he  does  no  other,  adapting  every  turn  to  his  want  and 
to  the  points  already  gained,  till  finally  he  is  caught  by 
the  gentle  guile  of  God's  mercies  and  drawn  to  the  rock 
of  salvation ;  even  as  some  heavy  and  strong  fish,  that 
has  been  played  by  the  skillful  angler,  is  drawn,  at  last, 
to  land,  by  a  delicate  line,  that  would  not  even  hold 
his  weight. 

In  a  similar  way  God  manages,  not  seldom,  to  gain 
back  infidels  and  doubters.  First  he  commonly  makes 
them  doubt  their  doubts.  Their  conceit  he  moderates, 
meantime,  by  the  sobering  effect  of  years  and  sorrow. 
By  and  by  he  sharpens  their  spiritual  hunger,  by  the 
consciously  felt  emptiness  of  their  life,  and  the  large 
blank  spaces  of  their  creed.  Then  he  opens  some  new 
vista  into  the  bright  field  of  truth,  down  which  they 
never  looked  before,  and  the  mole  eyes  of  their  skepti- 
cism are  even  dazed  by  the  new  discovered  glory  of 
God's  light. 

Disciples  who  are  lapsed  into  sin,  and  even  into 
looseness  of  life,  are  recovered  in  the  same  way  of  indi- 
rection. God  does  not  pelt  them  with  storms,  nor  jerk 
them  back  into  their  place  by  any  violent  seizure,  lie 
only  leads  them  round  by  his  strong-handed  yet  gentle 
tractions,  till  he  has  got  them  by,  or  out  of,  their  fascina 


THE    GENTLENESS    OF    GOD.  41 

tions,  and  winnowed  the  nonsense  out  of  their  fancy  ot 
feeling,  by  which  they  have  been  captivated.  And  so 
at  length  he  gets  their  feet  upon  the  rock  again,  nevei 
to  be  moved. 

Indeed  I  may  go  farther.  Even  if  you  desire  it, 
God  will  not  thrust  you  on  to  higher  attainments  in  re- 
ligion, by  any  forcible  and  direct  method.  He  will 
only  bring  you  out  into  the  rest  you  seek,  just  as  soon 
as  you  are  sufficiently  untwisted,  and  cleared,  and  rec- 
tified, under  his  indirect  methods,  to  be  there.  Com- 
monly your  light  will  spring  up  in  quarters  where  you 
look  not  for  it,  and  even  the  very  hidings  and  obscura- 
tions you  suffer,  will  give  you  out  some  spark  of  light, 
as  they  leave  you.  The  obstacles  you  conquer  will 
turn  out  to  be,  in  some  sense,  aids;  the  discouragements 
that  tried  you  will  open,  when  they  part,  as  windows 
of  hope. 

Having  traced  the  manner  and  fact  of  God's  conde- 
scension to  these  gentle  methods,  let  us  now  pass  on  to 
another  point  where  the  subject  properly  culminates; 
viz.,  to  the  end  he  has  in  view ;  which  is,  to  make  us 
great.  He  may  have  a  different  opinion  of  greatness 
from  that  which  is  commonly  held  by  men — he  cer- 
tainl}^  has.  And  what  is  more,  he  has  it  because  he 
has  a  much  higher  respect  for  the  capabilities  of  our 
human  nature,  and  much  higher  designs  concerning  it, 
than  we  have  ourselves.  We  fall  into  a  mistake  here 
also,  under  what  we  suppose  to  be  the  Christian  gospel 
itself;  as  if  it  were  a  plan  to  bring  down,  not  the  lofti- 


i2  THE    GENTLENESS    OF    GOD. 

ness  of  our  pride,  and  the  willfulness  of  our  rebellion, 
but  the  stature  and  majesty  of  our  nature  itself.  Thus 
we  speak  of  submitting,  or  losing  our  will,  being  made 
weak  and  poor,  becoming  little  children,  ceasing  to 
have  any  mind  of  our  own,  falling  into  nothingness  and 
self-contempt  before  God.  All  which  are  well  enough, 
as  Christian  modes  of  expression;  but  we  take  them 
too  literal]}^  They  are  good  as  relating  to  our  wrong 
will  and  wrong  feeling,  not  as  relating  to  our  capacity 
of  will  and  feeling  itself.  On  the  contrary,  while  God 
is  ever  engaged  to  bring  down  our  loftiness  in  evil  and 
perversity,  he  is  just  as  constantly  engaged  to  make  ua 
loftier  and  stronger  in  every  thing  desirable — in  capac- 
ity, and  power,  and  all  personal  majest}^  We  do  not 
understand  him,  in  fact,  till  we  conceive  it  as  a  truth 
profoundly  real  and  glorious,  that  he  wants  to  make  us 
great — great  in  will,  great  in  the  breadth  and  honest 
freedom  of  our  intellect,  great  in  courage,  enthusiasm, 
self-respect,  firmness,  superiority  to  things  and  matters 
of  condition ;  great  in  sacrifice  and  beneficence ;  great 
in  sonship  with  Himself;  great  in  being  raised  to  such 
common  counsel,  and  such  intimate  unity  with  him  in 
his  ends,  that  we  do,  in  fact,  reign  with  him. 

Take,  for  example,  the  first  point  named,  the  will; 
for  this,  it  will  be  agreed,  is  the  spinal  column  even  of 
our  personality.  Here  it  is  that  we  assert  ourselves 
with  sQch  fi-ightful  audacity  in  our  sin.  Here  is  the 
tap-root  of  our  obstinacy.  Hence  come  all  the  woes 
and  disorders  of  our  fallen  state.  Is  it  then  his  point 
CO  crush  our  will,  or  reduce  it  in  quantity?      If  that 


THE    GENTLENESS    OF    GOD.  43 

were  all,  he  could  do  it  by  a  thought.  No,  that  is  not 
his  way.  His  object  is,  on  the  contrary,  to  gain  our 
will — gain  it,  that  is,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  save  it, 
and  make  it  finally  a  thousand  fold  stouter  in  good  and 
sacrifice,  than  it  has  been,  or  could  be,  in  wrong  and 
evil.  He  will  make  it  the  chariot,  as  it  were,  of  a  great 
and  mighty  personality,  inflexible,  unsubduable,  tre- 
mendous in  good  forever. 

So  of  the  intellect.  Blinded  by  sin,  wedded  to  all 
misbelief  and  false  seeing,  he  never  requires  us  to  put 
violence  upon  it,  never  to  force  an  opinion  or  a  faith, 
lest  we  break  its  integrity ;  he  only  bids  us  set  it  for 
seeing,  hj  a  wholly  right  intent  and  a  willingness  even 
to  die  for  the  truth  ;  assured  that,  in  this  maimer,  Time, 
and  Providence,  and  Cross,  and  Spirit,  will  bring  it 
into  the  light,  clearing,  as  in  a  glorious  sun-rising,  all 
the  clouds  that  obscure  it,  and  opening  a  full,  broad 
heaven  of  day  on  its  vision.  Eecovered  thus  without 
being  forced  or  violated,  it  feels  itself  to  be  a  complete 
integer  in  power,  as  never  before;  and  having  con- 
quered such  obstacles  under  God,  by  the  simple  hon- 
esty of  its  search,  it  has  a  mighty  appetite  sharpened 
for  the  truth,  and  a  glorious  confidence  raised,  that  time 
}md  a  patient  beholding  will  pierce  all  other  clouds, 
and  open  a  way  for  the  light. 

And  so  it  is  that  God  manages  to  save  all  th(^  attri 
butes  of  force  and  magnanimity  in  us,  while  reducing 
us  to  love  and  obedience.  Take  such  an  exarrple  as 
Paul.  Do  we  speak  of  will?  why  he  has  the  will-force 
of  an  empire  in  him      Of  intelligence  ?  let  it  be  enough 


44  THE    GENTLENESS    OF    GOD. 

tliat  he  goes  down  into  Arabia,  and  that  in  three  years' 
time  his  mind  has  gone  over  all  the  course  of  Christian 
truth  and  doctrine,  helped  by  no  mortal,  but  only  by 
God's  converse  with  him,  and  his  own  free  thought. 
Of  courage,  firmness,  self-respect?  what  perils  has  he 
met,  what  stripes  endured,  and  what  ofiscouring  of  the 
world  has  he  been  taken  for,  unhumbled  still,  and  erect 
in  the  consciousness  of  his  glorious  manhood  in  Christ 
— sorrowful  yet  always  rejoicing,  poor  yet  making 
many  rich,  having  nothing  yet  possessing  all  things; 
confounding  Athens  and  Ephesus  and  the  mob  at  Je- 
rusalem, out-pleading  Tertullus  the  lawyer,  convincing 
Felix  and  Agrippa,  commanding  in  the  shipwreck, 
winning  disciples  to  the  faith  in  the  household  of  Caesar, 
and  planting,  in  fact,  all  over  Caesar's  world-wide  em- 
pire, the  seeds  of  a  loftier  and  stronger  empire  by  which 
it  is  finally  to  be  mastered. 

Such  now  are  God's  mighty  ones — humble  it  may  be 
and  poor,  or  if  not  such  by  social  position,  most  effectu- 
ally humbled,  some  will  think,  by  their  faith,  yet  how 
gloriously  exalted.  God  renounces  all  the  point-blank 
methods  of  dealing,  that  he  may  give  scope  and  verge 
to  our  liberty,  and  win  us  to  some  good  and  great  feel- 
ing, in  glorious  affinity  with  his  own.  He  wants  us  to 
be  great  enough  in  the  stature  of  our  opinions,  princi- 
ples, courage  and  character,  that  he  may  enjoy  us  and 
be  Himself  enjoyable  by  us.  Hence  also  it  is  that;, 
when  we  are  born  of  God,  and  the  divine  affinities  of 
our  great  nature  come  into  play  unbroken,  unimpaired. 
and  even  wondrously  raised  in  volume,  we,  for  the  first 


THE    GENTLENESS    OF    GOD.  45 

time,  make  discovery  of  ourselves.  Our  beads  touch 
heaven,  as  it  were,  in  the  sense  of  our  regenerated  dig- 
nity, and  joys  like  the  ocean  roll  through  our  nature, 
that  before  could  only  catch  some  rill  or  trickling  drop 
of  good.  And  with  it  comes  what  strength,  a  mightv 
will,  a  sense  of  equilibrium  recovered,  an  all  appropri- 
ating faith,  superiority  to  things,  immovable  repose. 

And  DOW  at  the  crowning  of  this  great  subject,  what 
shall  more  impress  us  than  the  sublime  and  captivating 
figure  God  maintains  for  Himself  and  his  government 
in  it.  Easy  enough  were  it  for  him  to  lay  his  force 
upon  us,  and  dash  our  obstinacy  to  the  ground.  He 
might  not  thrust  us  into  love,  he  could  not  into  cour- 
age and  confidence,  but  he  might  instantly  crush  out  all 
willfulness  in  us  forever.  But  he  could  not  willingly 
reduce  us,  in  this  manner,  to  a  weak  and  cringing  sub- 
mission. He  wants  no  slaves  about  his  throne.  If  he 
could  not  raise  us  into  liberty  and  make  us  great  in 
duty,  he  would  less  respect  both  duty  and  Himself. 
He  refuses  therefore  to  subdue  us  unless  by  some  such 
method  that  we  may  seem,  in  a  certain  other  sense,  tc 
subdue  ourselves.  Most  true  it  is  that  he  carries  a 
strong  hand  with  us.  He  covers  up  no  principle,  tem- 
pers the  exactness  of  no  law.  There  is  no  connivance 
in  his  methods,  no  concealment  of  truths  disagreeble 
and  piercing,  no  proposition  of  compromise  or  halving, 
in  a  way  of  settlement.  His  Providence  moves  strong. 
His  terrors  flame  out  on  the  background  of  a  wrathful 
sky.     He  thunders  marvelously  with  his  voice.     And 


4:6  THE    GENTLENESS    OF    GOD. 

SO  his  very  gentleness  stands  glorious  and  strong  and 
sovereignly  majestic  round  us.  Were  be  only  soft  or 
kind,  bending  like  a  willow  to  our  wicked  state,  there 
were  little  to  move  and  affect  us  even  in  bis  goodness 
itself.  But  wben  we  look  on  bim  as  the  Almighty 
Rock,  the  immovable  Governor  and  Keeper  of  the 
worlds,  girding  himself  in  all  terrible  majesty  when  he 
must,  to  let  us  know  that  impunity  in  wrong  is  impossi- 
ble, then  it  is  that  we  behold  him  in  the  true  meaning 
of  his  gentleness — how  good !  how  firm !  how  adorably 
great!  Come  nigh  0  thou  sinning,  weary  prodigal,  and 
acknowledge  and  receive,  in  blissful  welcome,  the  true 
greatness  of  thy  God !  Be  not  jealous  an}^  more  that 
religion  is  going  to  depress  your  manly  parts,  or  weaken 
the  strength  of  your  high  aspirations.  In  your  lowest 
humiliations  and  deepest  repentances,  you  will  be  con- 
sciously raised  and  exalted.  Every  throb  of  heaven's 
life  in  your  bosom  will  be  only  a  throb  of  greatness. 
Every  good  affection,  every  holy  action,  into  which 
your  God  may  lead  you,  all  your  bosom  struggles,  your 
hungers  and  tears  and  prostrations,  will  be  the  travail- 
ing only  of  a  princely  birth,  and  a  glorious  sonship  with 
God. 

Holding  such  a  view  too  of  God's  ends  and  the  care- 
ful indirections  by  which  he  pursues  them,  we  can  not 
fliil  to  note  the  softened  aspect  given  to  what  are  often 
called  the  unaccountable  severities  of  human  experience. 
The  woes  of  broken  health  and  grim  depression;  the 
pains,  the  unspeakable  agonies  by  which  human  bodies 
are  wrenched  for  whole  years ;  the  wrongs  of  orphao- 


THE     GENTLENESS    OF    GOD.  47 

age;  pestilence,  fire,  flood,  tempest  and  famine — liow 
can  a  good  God  launch  his  bolts  on  men,  we  ask,  in  se- 
verities like  these?  Ajid  the  sufferers  themselves 
sometimes  w:)nder,  even  in  their  faith,  how  it  is  that 
if  God  is  a  Father,  he  can  let  fall  on  his  children  such 
hail-storms  of  inevitable,  unmitigated  disaster.  No, 
suffering  mortal !  a  truce  to  all  such  complainings. 
These  are  only  God's  merciful  indirections,  fomentations 
of  trouble  and  sorrow  that  he  is  appljdng,  to  soften  the 
rugged  and  hard  will  in  you.  These  pains  are  only 
switches  to  turn  you  off  from  the  track  of  his  coming 
retributions.  If  your  great,  proud  nature  could  be  won 
to  the  real  greatness  of  character,  by  a  tenderer  treat- 
ment, do  you  not  see,  from  all  God's  gentle  methods  of 
dealing  with  mankind,  that  he  would  gladly  soften 
your  troubles?  And  if  diamonds  are  not  polished  by 
soap,  or  oil,  or  even  by  any  other  stone,  but  only  by 
their  own  fine  dust,  why  should  you  complain  that  God 
is  tempering  you  to  your  good,  only  by  such  throes  and 
lacerations  and  wastings  of  life,  as  are  necessary  ? 

Again,  to  vary  the  strain  of  our  thought,  how 
strangely  weak  and  low,  is  the  perversity  of  many, 
when  they  require  it  of  God  to  convert  them  by  force, 
or  drive  them  heavenward  by  storm.  You  demand,  it 
may  be,  that  God  shall  raise  the  dead  before  you,  or 
that  he  shall  speak  to  you  in  an  audible  voice  from  the 
sky,  or  that  he  shall  regenerate  your  life  by  some  stroke 
of  omnipotence  in  your  sleep — something  you  demand 
that  shall  astound  3^our  senses,  or  supersede  your  free- 
dom.     You  require  it  of  God,  in   fact,  that   he  shall 


4:8  THE    GENTLENESS    OF    GOD. 

manage  jou  as  he  did  Sennacberib,  that  he  shall  put 
his  hook  into  your  nose,  and  his  bridle  into  your  lips, 
and  lead  you  back  in  that  manner,  out  of  sins  you  will 
n<3t  consentingly  forsake.  How  preposterous  and  base 
lo  ask  it  thus  of  your  Father,  that  he  will  storm  you 
with  his  power  and  thrust  you  into  goodness  by  his 
tbu  ider-bolts !  Instead  of  being  jealous,  with  a  much 
finer  class  of  souls,  that  God  and  religion  are  going  to 
reduce  your  level,  you  even  require  to  be  made  little  by 
him,  nay,  to  be  unmade,  and  even  thrust  out  of  your 
personal  manhood.  How  mucb  better  to  give  a  ready 
welcome  to  what  God  is  doing  for  you  and  in  you, 
without  force,  doing  in  a  way  to  save  and  even  to  com- 
plete your  personal  manhood. 

Last  of  all,  let  us  not  omit,  in  such  a  subject  as  this, 
the  due  adjustment  of  our  conceptions  to  that  which  is 
the  true  pitch  and  scale  of  our  magnanimity  and  worth 
as  Christian  men.  It  is  easy,  at  this  point,  to  flaunt  our 
notions  of  dignity,  and  go  off,  as  it  were,  in  a  gas  of 
naturalism,  prating  of  manliness,  or  manly  character. 
And  yet  there  is  such  a  thing  to  be  thought  of,  revela- 
tion being  judge,  as  being  even  great — great  in  some 
true  scale  of  Christian  greatness.  A  little,  mean- 
minded,  shuffling,  cringing,  timorous,  selfish  soul — 
would  that  many  of  our  time  could  see  how  base  the 
figure  it  makes  under  any  Christian  name.  I  will  not 
undertake  to  say  how  little  a  man  may  be  and  be  a 
Christian ;  for  there  are  some  natures  that  are  constitu- 
tionally mean,  and  it  may  be  too  much  to  expect  that 
grace  will  ennoble  them  all  through  in  a  day.     Judging 


THE    GENTLENESS    OF    GOD.  49 

them  in  all  charity,  it  must  none  the  less  be  our  con- 
ception for  ourselves,  that  God  is  calling  us  even  to  be 
great,  great  in  courage  and  candor,  steadfast  in  honor 
and  truth,  immovable  in  our  promises,  heroic  in  oui 
sacrifices,  right,  and  bold,  and  holy — men  whom  he  is 
training,  by  his  own  great  spirit,  for  a  world  of  great 
.sentiment,  and  will,  and  might,  and  majesty.  For  when 
we  conceive  the  meeting  in  that  world,  and  being  there 
compeers  with  such  majestic  souls  as  Moses,  and  Paul, 
and  Luther,  and  Cromwell,  nay  with  thrones  and  do- 
minions otherwise  nameless,  we  do  not  seem,  I  confess, 
to  be  so  much  raised  in  the  sense  of  our  possible  stature 
in  good,  as  when  we  simply  meditate  God's  gentle 
methods  with  us  here,  to  raise  our  fallen  manhood  to  its 
place ;  his  careful  respect  for  our  liberty,  the  hidings  of 
his  power,  the  detentions  of  his  violated  feeling,  the 
sending  of  his  Son,  and  his  Son's  great  cross,  the  silent 
intercessions  of  his  Spirit — all  the  changes  through 
which  be  is  leading  us,  all  the  careful  trainings  of  care 
and  culture  by  w^hich  he  is  bringing  us  back  at  last, 
stage  by  stage,  to  the  final  erectness  and  glory  of  a  per- 
fect life.  Even  as  when  the  mother  eagle  lifts  her  young 
upon  the  edge  of  her  nest,  holding  them  back  that  they 
may  not  topple  off,  and  puts  them  fluttering  there  and 
waving  their  pinions  that  they  may  get  strength  to  lift 
their  bodies,  and  finally  to  scale  the  empyreal  heights. 
And  when  we  shall  be  able,  ascending  thus  our  state 
of  glory,  to  look  back  and  trace  all  this,  in  a  clear  and 
orderly  revieW:  what  a  wonderful  and  thrilling  retro- 
spect will  it  be. 

5 


50  THE    GENTLENESS    OF    GOD. 

Conscious  there  of  powers  not  broken  down  or 
crushed  into  servility,  but  of  wills  invigorated  rather  by 
submission,  with  what  sense  of  inborn  dignity  and 
strength  shall  we  sing — Thy  gentleness  hath  made  us 
great.  All  the  littleness  of  our  sin  is  now  quite  gone. 
We  are  now  complete  men,  such  as  God  meant  us  to  be ; 
—  great  in  the  stature  of  our  opinions,  great  in  our 
feelings,  principles,  energies  of  will  and  joy;  greatest  of 
all  in  our  conscious  affinity  with  God  and  the  Lamb. 
Be  it  ours  to  live,  then,  with  a  sense  of  our  high  calling 
upon  us,  abiding  in  all  the  holy  magnanimities  of  love, 
honor,  sacrifice  and  truth ;  sincere,  exact,  faithful, 
bountiful  and  free ;  showing  thus  to  others  and  know- 
ing always  in  ourselves,  that  we  do  steadily  aspire  to 
just  that  height  of  good,  into  which  our  God  himself 
has  undertaken  to  exalt  us. 


III. 

THE  INSIGHT  OF   LOVE. 


^^ She  hath  done  what  she  could;  she  is  come  aforehand 
tc  anoint  my  body  to  the  huryingy — Makk,  xiv.  8. 

It  takes  a  woman  disciple  after  all  to  do  any  most 
beautiful  thing;  in  certain  respects  too,  or  as  far  as  love 
is  wisdomi,  any  wisest  thing.  Thus  we  have  before  us, 
here,  a  simple-hearted  loving  woman,  who  has  had  no 
subtle  questions  of  criticism  about  matters  of  duty  and 
right,  but  only  loves  her  Lord's  person  with  a  love  that 
is  probably  a  kind  of  mysterj^  to  herself,  which  love 
she  wants  somehow  to  express.  She  comes  therefore 
with  her  box  of  ointment,  having  sold  we  know  not 
what  article,  or  portion  of  her  property,  to  buy  it,  for 
it  was  very  costly,  and  pours  it  on  the  Saviour's  head — 
just  here  to  encounter,  for  the  first  time,  scruples,  ques- 
tions, and  rebuffs  of  argument.  For  though  she  is  no 
casuist  herself,  no  debater  of  cases  of  conscience,  there 
are  abundance  of  such  among  the  Lord's  male  disciples 
present,  Judas  among  them,  and  they  have  more  rea- 
sons, a  great  many,  to  offer  than  she,  poor  child  of  love, 
has  ever  thought  of.  "Hold  woman,"  they  say,  and 
particularly  Judas  in  the  representatiou  of  John,  "WJiy 
this  extravagance  and  foolish  waste  ?     Is  not  the  Lord 


52  THE    INSIGHT    OF     LOVE. 

always  teaching  us  to  consider  the  poor,  and  do  good  in 
every  thing,  and  what  immense  good  might  you  have 
done,  had  you  sold  this  ointment  and  put  it  to  the  uses 
of  beneficence ;  why,  the  trains  of  benefit  you  migh 
have  set  agoing  by  the  money  are  even  endless,  and 
now  it  is  thrown  away  for  just  nothing."  She  makes 
no  answer,  has  nothing  at  all  to  say,  and  does  not  see, 
most  likely,  wby  she  has  not  been  as  foolish  as  they  think. 

But  Christ  answers  for  her.  "  Ko,  children,  no,"  he 
says,  "do  not  trouble  the  woman,  she  has  an  oracle  in 
her  love  wiser  than  yours  that  you.  have  in  your 
heads ;  she  has  done  a  good  work  on  me,  fitting,  alto- 
gether, to  be  done  by  her,  if  not  by  you.  ISTay,  she 
has  even  prophesied  here,  taken  hold  practically  of  my 
future — just  that  which  I  have  never  been  able  to  make 
you  conceive,  or  guess.  The  poor  you  have  always  with 
you,  be  it  yours  to  bless  them,  but  me  ye  have  not  always. 
She  is  come  aforehand — dear  prophetic  tribute! — to 
anoint  my  body  for  the  burying.  Is  it  nothing  that 
1  die  in  the  fragrant  odors  of  this  dear  woman's  love? 
Verily  I  say  unto  you,  wheresoever  this  gospel  shall  be 
preached  throughout  the  whole  world,  this  also  that  this 
woman  hath  done,  shall  be  told  for  a  memorial  of  her." 

Ko  such  commendation  was  ever  before  or  after  con- 
ferred by  the  Saviour  on  any  mortal  of  the  race.  He 
testified  for  the  Gentile  centurion,  that  he  had  found  no 
such  faith  as  his  even  in  Israel.  He  tacitly  commended 
his  three  favorite  disciples,  Peter,  James  and  John, 
by  the  peculiar  confidence  into  which  he  took  them. 
But  the  little  gospel,  so  to  speak,  of  this 'loving  woman*s 


THE    INSIGHT    OF    LOYE.  53 

devotion,  "he  declares  shall  go  forth  with  his,  to  be 
spoken  of,  and  felt  in  its  beauty,  and  breathed  in  its 
fragrance,  in  all  remotest  regions  of  the  world,  and 
latest  ages  of  time. 

Ami  what  is  the  lesson  or  true  import  of  this  so 
much  commended  example?  What  but  this? — do  for 
( 'hrist  just  what  is  closest  at  hand,  and  be  sure  that  you 
will  so  meet  all  his  remotest,  or  most  unknown  times 
and  occasions.  Or,  better  still,  follow  without  question 
the  impulse  of  love  to  Christ's  own  person;  for  this 
when  really  full  and  sovereign,  will  put  you  along 
easily  in  a  kind  of  infallible  way,  and  make  your  con- 
duct chime,  as  it  were,  naturally  with  all  God's  future, 
even  when  that  future  is  unknown ;  untying  the  most 
difficult  questions  of  casuistry  without  so  much  as  a 
question  raised. 

And  precisely  here,  not  elsewhere,  is  the  great  con- 
tribution Christ  has  made  to  moralit}'',  or  the  depart- 
ment of  duty.  He  inaugurates,  in  fact,  a  new  Christian 
morality,  quite  superior  to  the  natural  ethics  of  the 
world.  Not  a  new  morality  as  respects  the  body  of 
rules,  or  code  of  preceptive  obligations,  though  even 
here  he  instituted  laws  of  conduct  so  important  as  to 
create  a  new  era  of  advancement,  but  new  in  the  sense 
that  he  raised  his  followers  to  a  new  point  of  insight, 
where  the  solutions  of  duty  are  easy,  and  the  otherwise 
perplexed  questions  of  casuistry  are  forever  suspended; 
even  as  this  woman  friend  of  Jesus  saw  more  through 
her  love,  and  struck  into  a  finer  coincidence  wuth  his 
sublime  future,  than  all  the  male  disciples  arouni)  Uer 
5^ 


54  THE     IXSKITIT    OF    LOVE 

had  been  able  to  do  bv  the  compntations  of  reflective 
reason.  Nay,  if  Judas  who,  according  to  John,  was  the 
more  forward  critic,  had  been  writing  just  then  a  treat- 
ise on  the  economics  of  duty,  her  little  treatise  of  unc- 
tion was  better. 

But  we  shall  not  understand  either  her.  or  the  sub- 
ject we  are  proposing  to  illustrate,  if  we  do  not — 

L  Bring  into  view  the  inherent  difficult}^  that  besets 
all  questions  of  casuistry  that  rise  under  the  laws,  or 
precepts  of  natural  morality.  By  casuistry  we  mean, 
as  the  word  is  commonly  used  by  ethical  writers,  the 
settlement  of  cases^  sometimes  called  cases  of  conscience. 
The  rules  or  precepts  of  morality  are  easy  for  the  most 
part,  it  is  only  their  applications  to  particular  cases  that 
are  difl&cult.  And  they  are  often  so  diffic"ult  as  to 
cause  the  greatest  perplexity  in  the  most  conscientious 
and  thoroughly  Christian  minds;  as  many  of  you  will 
know  perhaps  from  the  struggles  of  your  own  moral 
experience.  Eeady  to  do  any  thing  which  duty  re- 
quires, ready  to  fulfill  any  precept,  or  law,  which  is  obli- 
gatory, you  have  yet  been  tormented  often  with  doubts, 
it  may  be,  regarding  what  this  or  that  rule  of  duty  re- 
quired of  you,  in  the  particular  case  which  had  then 
arrived.  For  the  rules,  or  precepts  of  obligation,  are 
all  general  or  generic  in  their  nature,  while  the  cases  are 
particular,  and  appear  to  even  run  into  each  other,  by 
subtle  gradations  of  color,  so  as  to  be  separable  by  no 
distinct  lines.  Every  case  is  peculiar,  it  is  more,  it  is 
less,  it  is  different — does  the  rule  of  duty  apply? 


THE    INSIGHT    OF    LOVE.  55 

Take  for  example,  the  statute  ''thou  shalt  not  kill,'* 
either  as  a  statute  of  the  decalogue,  or  of  natural  mor- 
ality. Under  this,  as  an  accepted  law,  there  will  come 
up,  in  the  application,  questions  like  these — Whether 
one  can  rightly  be  a  soldier  for  the  defense  of  his  coun- 
try ?  Whether  he  can  rightly  execute  a  criminal  under 
tlie  sentence  of  death  ?  Whether  it  is  murder  to  shoot 
a  robber  at  one's  bed-side  in  the  night  ?  Whether  one 
can  rightly  defend  a  poor  fugitive,  hunted  by  his  mas- 
ter, by  assailing  the  master's  life  ?  Whether  as  a  chris- 
tian he  may  rightly  pursue  the  murderer  of  his  child, 
and  bring  him  to  trial,  under  a  charge  that  subjects  him 
to  capital  punishment  ?  Whether  he  may  order  a  sur- 
gical operation  done  upon  a  child,  which  there  is  much 
reason  to  fear  will  only  shorten  life  ?  Whether  he  can 
run  this  or  that  considerable  risk  of  his  own  life  for 
purposes  of  gain,  without  incurring  the  guilt  of  suicide? 

The  same  is  true  of  any  other  main  precept  of  mor- 
ality or  statute  of  the  decalogue.  Accepting  the  law 
general,  endless  questions  arise  regarding  its  particular 
applications,  which  it  seems  impossible  to  solve. 

Or  we  may  take  the  great  principle  which  requires 
doing  good,  the  utmost  good  possible.  And  then  the 
question  will  arise  continually,  in  new  forms  endlessly 
varied;  what  is  best  to  be  done?  And  here  we  find 
ourselves  thrown  at  every  turn,  upon  a  search  that  re- 
quires an  immense  fore-reaching,  or  impossible,  knowl- 
edge of  the  future.  What  are  God's  plans  in  regard  to 
th(5  future?  shall  we  meet  them  and  chime  with  them, 
by  this  course  or  by  that  ?     Or,  if  we  only  try  to  find 


56  THE    INSIGHT    OF    LOVE. 

what  will  be  most  useful,  we  can  see  but  an  inch  for 
ward,  and  how  can  we  decide.  Thus  if  the  woman 
had  been  asking  how  she  could  use  her  box  of  oint- 
ment so  as  to  do  most  good  with  it,  she  would  either 
have  fallen  into  utter  doubt  and  perplexity,  or  else  she 
would  have  taken  up  the  same  conclusion  with  tfudas, 
and  given  it  to  the  benefit  of  the  poor.  And  so  if 
you  have  on  hand  the  question,  whether,  in  the  way 
of  being  useful  in  the  highest  possible  degree,  you  will 
educate  your  son  as  a  Christian  minister?  there  come 
up  immediately  questions  like  these — Whether  he  will 
live  to  be  of  any  service  to  the  world  ?  Whether  he 
has  talents  to  be  useful?  Whether  he  will  maintain  a 
character  to  be  useful  ?  Whether  even  God  will  make 
him  eloquent,  or  keep  him  grounded  thoroughly  in  the 
truth?  A  thousand  unknown  matters  regarding  his 
future,  baffle  yo\i  in  coming  to  any  intelligent  solution 
of  your  duty.  Any  sort  of  business  you  propose  to 
undertake  as  a  way  of  usefulness,  depends  in  the  same 
way  on  a  thousand  unknown  contingencies — the  prob- 
able characters  of  partners  and  customers,  the  winds, 
wars,  fires,  seasons,  markets  of  the  years  to  come.  In 
this  manner  you  are  brought  up  shortly,  under  the 
questions  of  duty,  by  the  discovery  that  you  can  see 
but  a  little  way,  whatever  you  propose,  and  that  all 
V  our  computations  of  usefulness  or  means  of  usefulness 
to  be  obtained,  are  too  short  in  the  run  to  allow  the 
satisfactory  settlement  of  any  thing. 

These   difficulties,   it   is   true   may  be   exaggeiatecl 
Some  men  never  have  a  trouble  about  duty  in  their 


THE    INSIGHT    OF    LOVE.  0 1 

lives,  just  because  they  have  practically  do  conscienc(3 
about  it.  Eeally  conscientious  persons,  too,  settle  most 
of  their  questions  as  they  rise,  without  debate.  It  is  here 
exactly  as  it  is  in  the  law  ;  for  what  is  called  the  common 
law  is  a  product  of  pure  moral  casuistr}^  from  beginning 
to  end  —ten  thousand  obligations  are  discharged  with- 
out litigation  to  one  that  is  settled  by  it,  and  yet  the 
few  to  be  thus  settled  are  how  many  and  troublesome. 
The  reported  volumes  multiply  till  no  one  can  read 
them,  and  yet  the  new  cases  come;  the  work  is  never 
done — never  in  fact  to  be  done.  Just  so  it  is  with  our 
troubles  of  casuistry.  The  really  conscientious  man 
will  be  continually  graveled  by  some  question  he  can 
not  solve  by  his  reason,  and  one  such  question  is 
enough  to  break  his  peace.  However  perfect  and  sim- 
ple the  code  of  preceptive  dutj',  the  applications  of  it 
will  often  be  difficult,  ^id  sometimes  well  nigh  impos- 
sible, without  some  better  help  than  casuistry,  which 
better  help  I  now  proceed, 

II.  To  show  is  contributed  by  Christ  and  his  gospel. 
By  him  is  added  to  the  code  of  dutj^,  what  could,  by  no 
possibility  be  located  in  it,  a  power  to  settle  right  applica- 
tions to  all  particular  cases,  without  casuistry,  or  any  such 
debate  of  reasons  as  allows  even  a  chance  of  perplexity. 

Thus,  begetting  in  the  soul  a  new  personal  love  to 
himself,  practically  supreme,  Christ  establishes  in  it  all 
law,  and  makes  it  gravitate,  by  its  own  sacred  motion, 
.oward  all  that  is  right  and  good  in  all  particular  cases. 
This  Icve  will   find  all   good   by  its  own  pure  affin 


58  '    THE    INSIGHT    OF    LOYE. 

it  J,  apart  from  any  mere  debate  of  reasons;  even  as 
a  magnet  finds  all  specks  of  iron  hidden  in  the  com- 
mon dust.  Thus  if  the  race  were  standing  fast  in  love, 
perfect  love,  that  love  would  be  the  fulfilling  of  the 
law  without  the  law,  determining  itself  rightly  by  its 
own  blessed  motions,  without  any  statutory  control  what- 
ever. It  is  only  under  sin,  where  the  love  is  gone  out 
as  a  principle,  that  we  get  up  rules,  work  out  adjudica- 
tions, creep  along  toilsomely  into  moral  customs  and 
codes,  contriving  in  that  manner  to  fence  about  life 
and  make  society  endurable.  These  are  laws  that  God 
enacts  for  the  lawless  and  disobedient ;  or  which  they, 
under  Grod,  elaborate  for  their  own  protection.  But 
who  w^ill  go  to  love  and  say,  thou  shalt  not  steal,  or 
kill,  or  lie — does  not  love  know  that  beforehand? 
1*hese  decalogue  statutes — love  wants  none  of  them, 
she  fulfills  them  before  they  are  |fiven.  She  can  shape 
a  life  more  beautifully  by  her  own  divine  impulse,  than 
it  could  be  done  by  any  and  all  ethical  statutes,  or 
refinements  under  them.  And  accordingly  when 
Christ  restores  this  love  in  a  soul,  it  will  be  a  new  inspi- 
ration of  duty,  just  according  to  its  degree  of  power. 
In  so  far  as  the  love  is  weak,  or  incomplete,  the  fencea 
of  precept  and  rule  will  be  wanted.  But  the  now 
affinity  it  creates,  ought  to  be  so  clear  as  to  make  all 
questions  of  duty  more  and  more  easy,  till  finally  the 
sense  of  all  such  rules  is  nearly  or  quite  gone  by,  leav- 
ing only  the  love  to  be  its  own  interpreter  and  light 
of  guidance. 

Again  it  is  a  further  consideration,  drawing  toward 


THE    INSIGHT    OF    LOVE.  59 

the  same  conclusion,  that  Christ  incarnates  a  perfect  and 
comp]<-te  morality  in  his  own  person,  so  that  when  the 
soul  in  its  new  love  embraces  his  person,  it  embraces, 
or  takes  into  its  own  affinities,  a  complete  morality. 
Consider  who  Christ  is ;  the  eternal  Word  of  God  for 
whom,  and  by  whom,  all  the  worlds  were  made ;  in  whom 
as  being  in  the  form  of  God,  all  God's  ends,  creations, 
principles,  counsels,  providences,  and  future  ongoings, 
are  in  a  sense  contained  and  totalized.  Whoever  loves 
him,  therefore,  loves  in  fact,  all  that  he  is  in  his  perfec- 
tion, and  all  that  he  means  in  the  world,  all  that  he  is 
doing  and  going  to  do  in  it ;  and  so  loving  him,  all 
the  currents  of  his  soul  run  out  with  his,  to  meet  as  by 
a  true  inspiration,  all  his  deepest  purposes  and  most 
future  and  remotest  appointments.  He  is  in  a  state  of 
mind  that  cleaves  instinctively,  and  by  hidden  sympa- 
thies, to  all  that  is  in  the  Lord's  person.  Where  the 
reasons  of  the  understanding  are  short  of  reach,  and 
ethical  solutions  of  all  kinds  doubtful,  he  is  drawn  by 
the  indivertible  affinities  of  his  heart,  into  easy  coinci- 
dence with  all  that  Christ  means  for  him,  and  so  into  a 
certain  divine  morality.  He  is  not  a  philosopher,  not 
wise,  as  we  commonly  speak,  and  yet  Christ,  who  is 
being  formed  in  him,  is  made  unto  him  wisdom.  As 
the  worlds  are  fashioned  to  serve  His  plans,  and  work 
out,  in  the  sublime  progression  of  ages,  all  His  counsels 
of  good,  he  falls  into  that  same  progression  to  roll  on 
with  it,  not  knowing  whither,  and  how,  and  why,  by 
any  wisdom  of  the  head,  yet  chiming  faithfully  with  all 
that  Christ  is  doipg,  or  wants  to  be  done. 


60  THE    INSICrHT    OF    LOVE. 

At  the  risk  now  of  a  little  repetition,  let  us  recur  a 
moment  to  tlie  singularly  beautiful  example  of  the 
woman,  whose  conduct  gives  us  our  subject,  and  see 
how  completely  these  suggestions  are  verified.  Tlie 
wi^i)  male  brethren  who  stood  critics  round  her,  had  all 
1 1: e  casuistic,  humanly  assignable  reasons  plainly  enough 
with  them.  And  yet  the  wisdom  is  hers  without  any 
reasons.  She  reaches  further,  touches  the  proprieties 
more  fitly,  chimes  with  God's  future  more  exactly,  than 
they  do,  reasoning  the  question  as  they  best  can.  It  is 
as  if  she  were  somehow  polarized  in  her  love  by  a  new 
diviae  force,  and  she  settles  into  coincidence  with  Christ 
and  his  future,  just  as  the  needle  settles  to  its  point 
without  knowing  why.  She  does  not  love  him  on 
debate,  or  serve  him  by  contrived  reasons,  but  she  is  so 
drunk  up  in  his  person,  so  totally  captivated  by  the 
wondrous  something  felt  in  him,  that  she  has  and  can 
have  no  thought  other  than  to  love  him,  and  do  every 
thing  out  of  her  love.  To  bathe  his  blessed  head  with 
what  most  precious  ointment  she  can  get,  and  bending 
low  to  put  her  fragrant  homage  on  his  feet,  and  wind 
them  about  in  the  honors  of  her  hair,  is  all  that  she 
thinks  of,  and  be  it  wise  or  unwise,  it  is  done.  Where- 
upon it  turns  out  that  she  has  met  her  Lord's  future,  as 
no  other  one  of  his  disciples  had  been  able ;  anointed 
his  brow  for  the  thorns,  his  feet  for  the  nails,  that  both 
thorns  and  nai  s  may  draw  blood  in  the  p>erfume  of  at 
least  one  human  creature's  love.  And  this  she  has 
done,  you  perceive,  because  her  life  iS  wholly  in 
Christ's   element;    tempered   to    him    more   iitly    and 


THE    INSIGHT    OF    LOVE.  (H 

totally  than  it  could  be;  by  her  understaiicling.  By  a 
certain  delicate  affinity  of  feeling  that  was  equal  1o 
insight,  and  almost  to  prophecy,  she  touches  exactly 
her  Lord's  strange,  unknown  future,  and  anoints  him 
for  the  kingdom  and  the  death  she  does  not  even  think 
of,  or  know.  Plainly  enough  no  debate  of  consequences 
could  ever  have  prepared  her  for  these  deep  and  beauti- 
fully wise  proprieties. 

Now  in  just  this  manner  it  is,  that  Christianity  comes 
to  our  help,  in  all  the  most  difficult,  most  insoluble 
questions  of  duty,  those  I  mean  which  turn  upon  a 
computation  of  consequences.  To  compute  such  con- 
sequences, we  need  to  know,  in  fact,  a  thousand  things 
that  belong  to  the  future,  and  we  know  scarcely  one 
of  them — on  what  particular  ends  God  is  moving,  by 
what  means  he  will  reach  them,  what  effects  will  follow, 
or  not  follow,  a  supposed  act  of  usefulness,  what  trains 
of  causes  will  be  put  agoing,  what  trains  checked  and 
baffled.  Here  it  is  that  our  casuistry  breaks  down  con- 
tinually. At  this  point,  all  merely  preceptive  codes 
are  inherently  weak  and  well  nigh  impracticable.  They 
command  us  to  good,  or  beneficence,  and  leave  us  to 
utter  perplexity  in  all  computations  of  consequences 
that  reach  far  enough  to  settle  the  real  import  or  effect 
of  any  thing.  Nothing  plainly  but  some  inspiration, 
or  some  new  impulsion  of  love,  such  as  puts  the  soul 
at  one  with  all  God's  character  and  future,  as  when  it 
embraces  Christ  and  a  completely  incarnated  morality 
in  his  person  can  possibly  settle  our  applications  of 
duty   and   give   us   confidence   in   them.      Just   whal 

6 


62  THE     INSIGHT    OF    ]>OVE. 

li  el  peel  the  woman  to  come  aforeiiand  in  the  anointing 
of  the  Lord's  body,  is  wanted  hy  us  all,  at  every  turn 
of  life. 

And  this  I  will  now  add,  as  a  last  consideration,  h 
what  every  Christian  has  found  many  times,  if  not 
always,  in  his  own  experience.  ThuSj  in  some  trying 
(condition,  where  he  has  not  been  able,  b}^  the  under- 
standing, to  settle  any  wise  course  of  proceeding,  how 
very  clear  has  everything  been  made  to  him,  step  by 
step,  by  the  simple  and  consciously  single-eyed  impulse 
of  love  to  his  Master.  And  when  all  is  over,  when  his 
crisis  is  past,  his  course  fought  out,  his  adversaries  con- 
founded, his  cause  completely  justified,  his  sacrifice 
crowned,  how  plain  is  it  to  him  that  he  has  been  guided 
by  a  wisdom  in  his  loving  affinities,  which  he  had  not 
in  the  reasons  of  his  understanding;  all  in  a  way  so 
easy  as  even  to  be  an  astonishnaent  to  himself.  Not  to 
say  'this,  my  brethren,  out  of  my  own  exper'ence 
would  be  to  withhold  a  good  confession  that  is  due. 
And  I  can  not  persuade  myself  that  any  thoroughly 
Christian  person  is  ignorant  of  the  experience  I  de- 
scribe. All  our  best  determinations  of  duty  are  those 
which  come  upon  us  in  the  immediate  light  of  our  im- 
mediate union  to  Christ. 

I  ought,  perhaps,  to  add  that  the  doctrine  I  am  wish- 
ing to  unfold,  does  not  exclude  the  use  of  the  under- 
standing. It  is  one  thing  to  use  the  understanding 
under  love,  as  being  liquified  and  molded  by  it,  and 
quite  another  to  make  it  the  oracle  or  sole  arbiter 
oi'  duty.     Christ  himself  gives  precepts  to  the  under- 


THE    INSIJ^HT    OF    LOVf;.  63 

standing,  just  because  we  are  not  perfected  in  love,  and 
require,  meantime,  to  have  the  school-master's  keeping, 
under  a  preceptive  and  statutory  control.  Nothing  was 
fai-ther  off  from  God's  design  than  to  add  so  many  pre- 
ceptive regulations  by  Christ  and  the  apostles,  to  hel]! 
out  the  natural  code  of  morality,  and  be  applied  as  that 
code  is,  and  with  it,  by  natural  reason.  He  gives  them 
only  because  we  are  not  ripe  enough  in  the  good  im- 
pulse of  love  to  be  kept  right  by  that  alone.  We 
might  take  our  passions  for  love,  and  become  fanatics 
and  fire-brands  of  duty.  The  false  heats  of  our  indig- 
nations against  wrong,  too  little  qualified  by  love, 
might  fill  us  with  personal  animosities.  Our  lusts 
might  steal  the  name  of  love  and  fool  us  b}^  the  coun- 
terfeit. Therefore  he  puts  dry  precepts  in  the  under- 
standing for  a  time,  where,  if  they  are  legal  and  precis- 
ional  in  their  way,  the  fogs  of  distemper  and  passion 
will  be  just  as  much  less  able  to  reach  them. 

Let  me  add  now,  a  few  distinct  suggestions  that 
crowd  upon  us  naturallj^,  in  the  closing  of  such  a  sub- 
ject.    And — 

1.  The  great  debate  which  has  been  going  on  for 
some  time  past,  with  our  modern  infidelity,  is  seen  to 
be  joined  upon  a  superficial  and  false  issue.  The  su- 
perior preceptive  morality  of  the  Gospel  of  Christ, 
which  used  to  be  conceded,  is  now  denied,  and  the 
learned  champions  of  denial  undertake  to  refute  out 
claim,  by  citing  from  the  explored  literature  of  the 
ancient  Pagan  writers,  every  particular  maxiin.  or  pre- 


64  THE    INSIGHT    OF    LOVE. 

cept  that  we  most  value,  or  suppose  to  be  most  original 
in  the  teachings  of  Christ.  Which  if  they  can  do,  as 
they  certainly  can  not,  their  argument  is  only  a  vei-y 
1  cansparent  sophistry.  For,  when  they  have  hunted  all 
treasures  of  learning  through,  picking  up  here  one  thing 
and  here  another,  to  match  the  teachings  of  Christ,  and 
claim  as  the  result,  that  they  have  matched  every  thing, 
their  conclusions  amounts  to  simply  this,  not  that  Christ 
is  the  equal  of  some  man,  but  that  he  is  just  as  compe- 
tently wise  as  all  men  taken  together.  Besides  they 
make  him  none  the  less  original ;  for  no  one  can  pre- 
tend that  Christ  obtained,  or  raked  together  so  many 
precepts,  by  any  such  hunt  of  learned  exploration  as  is 
here  resorted  to ;  he  must  have  given  them  out  of  his 
own  creative  intelligence.  And  then  again,  what  sig- 
nifies a  great  deal  more,  it  is  not  here  after  all,  that 
he  made  his  grand  contribution  to  the  life  of  duty. 
The  issue  tried  is  wholly  one  side  of  his  chief  merit; 
viz.,  that  he  brings  relief  and  clearness  where  all  the 
natural  codes  of  duty  break  down.  These  codes  are 
grounded  in  natural  reason,  by  that  also  to  be  ap- 
plied. The  chief  maxims  may  be  right,  but  the  ap- 
plications are  still  to  be  settled  as  no  mortal  man  can 
settle  them — by  analogies,  by  subtle  distinctions,  drawn 
where  there  are  no  definite  lines  of  distinction ;  by 
computations  of  usefulness  depending  on  a  knowledge 
of  the  future  that  is  impossible.  Every  maxim  wants 
a  volume  of  casuistry  to  settle  its  application  to  this  or 
that  case  in  practice;  and  then  new  cases,  equally  difii- 
oult,  will  be  rising  still— even  as  they  do  at  coiiimon 


THE    INSIGHT    OF    LOVE.  65 

law,  -which  covers  only  a  very  small  corner  of  the  gen- 
era] field  of  duty.  Baxter  wrote  an  immense  folio  on 
cases  of  conscience,  thinking,  I  suppose,  that  he  had 
made  every  thing  clear  to  the  end  of  the  world ;  when 
in  fact  he  had  started  more  questions  in  doing  it  than 
twenty  folios  could  settle.  Handled  in  this  way,  the 
law  of  duty  runs  to  endless  refinements ;  and  as  men 
are  corrupt,  to  endless  sophistries  and  abortions ;  yield- 
ing codes  in  fact,  that  are  codes  of  immorality,  framing 
mischief  by  a  law ;  codes  of  Jesuitry,  codes  of  hideous 
a^id  disgusting  practice,  such  as  heathen  peoples  propa- 
gate with  endless  perversity.  How  much  then  does  it 
mean  that  Christ  has  a  perfect  morality  incarnated  in 
his  person — all  beauty,  truth,  mercy,  greatness,  wise 
counsel  of  life ;  so  that  when  he  is  embraced,  all  casu 
istries  are  well  nigh  superseded,  and  the  humblest,  most 
unreasoning  disciple,  is  able  by  a  course  of  applications, 
wiser  than  he  knows  himself,  to  fill  up  a  beautiful  life, 
meet,  with  a  glorious  consent  of  practice,  all  the  grand- 
est meanings,  and  remotest  future  workings  of  God. 
The  life  of  duty  passes  in  a  clear  element,  tossed  by  no 
perplexities,  happy  and  sweet  and  strong,  because  the 
soul  in  Christ's  love  has  a  light  of  immediate  guidance. 
In  presence  of  this  manifestly  divine  fact,  how  weak 
and  sorry  is  the  attempt  to  break  down  Christ's  sublime 
superhuman  evidences,  by  showing  that  bis  contribu- 
tions to  tbe  mere  preceptive  code  of  duty,  have  been 
more  or  less  nearly  anticipated. 

2.  All  conscientious  Christian  persons  who  got  con- 
fused and  fall  into  painful  debates  of  duty  in  particalar 

6* 


QS  THE    INSIGHT    OF    LOVE. 

cases,  may  here  discover  the  secret  of  their  trouble  and 
the  way  to  have  it  relieved.  Their  difficulty  is  that 
th'jy  fall  back  on  the  modes  of  casuistry,  and  attempt 
lo  settle  their  question  of  duty,  as  Jesuits  or  heathens 
Mo,  by  computations  of  reason.  Shall  I  do  this?  shall 
I  do  that?  shall  I  give  myself,  or  my  son,  or  my  hus- 
band to  the  army  of  my  country?  keeping  one  day 
in  seven,  how  shall  I  keep  it?  training  up  my  child  for 
God,  what  indulgences  shall  I  give,  what  pleasures 
shall  I  allow?  having  adversaries,  shall  I  be  silent? 
willing  to  make  every  thing  a  sacrifice  for  God,  shall  I 
give  or  not  give  all  my  time  and  talent  to  the  imme- 
diate duties  of  religion  ? — ten  thousand  such  questions 
are  rising  every  hour,  this  with  one  person,  this  with 
another.  The  debate  is  begun  and  kept  up  day  and 
night,  till  the  soul  is  weary.  The  darkness  increases, 
the  confusion  grows  painful,  the  longer  and  more  critical 
the  debate  is,  till  finally  the  soul,  thrown  back  upon 
itself,  sinks  into  a  kind  of  nervous  dread,  close  akin  to 
horror.  How  many  such  cases  have  I  met,  in  past 
years,  and  they  are  among  the  saddest  to  which  I  have 
been  called  to  minister.  The  question  of  duty  was  turned 
round  and  round,  till  the  multitude  of  reasons  made 
distraction.  It  was  even  as  if  duty  were  the  only  thing 
impossible  to  be  found.  Have  I  any  such  afflicted  soul 
before  me  now?  0,  my  friend,  that  I  could  show  you 
the  root  of  your  difficulty.  You  carry  your  case  to  the 
wrong  tribunal,  to  the  casuistries  of  ethics  and  not  to 
Christ.  You  get  tangled  in  questions,  when  you  should 
be  clear  in  love.     Go  where  Mary  went,  or  rather  whore 


THE    INSIGHT    OF    LOVE.  67 

Mary's  heart  went.  Cease  from  your  refinements,  re- 
fuse to  be  caught  any  more  in  the  mouse-trap  questions 
and  scruples  of  duty,  and  let  it  be  enough  to  lay  your 
soul  on  Christ's  bosom.  Resting  quietly  thus,  in  tlie 
sacred  bliss  of  love  to  Christ's  person,  wanting  nothing 
but  to  be  with  him  and  for  him,  your  torment  will  sooji 
be  over.  The  question  of  duty  will  be  ended  even  be- 
foreliand,  just  because  the  soul  of  all  duty  is  in  you. 
The  current  of  your  feeling  will  run  to  it  and  settle  it, 
even  before  you  ask  where  it  is. 

3.  It  is  no  good  sign  for  a  Christian  person,  that  he 
is  always  trying  to  settle  his  duty  by  calculations,  and 
wise  presagings  of  the  future ;  and  it  is  all  the  worse, 
if  he  pleases  himself  in  the  confidence  that  he  succeeds. 
Doing  nothing  by  faith,  making  no  room  for  impulse 
or  the  inspiration  of  christian  love,  he  takes  the  easy 
method  of  sagacity — easy  to  the  fool  as  to  the  wise 
man — determining  his  questions  of  course  mostly  in 
the  negative ;  for,  if  there  is  any  doubt,  it  is  always  a 
brave  thing,  and  always  looks  sagacious  to  say.  No  ; 
and  then,  since  he  undertakes  no  duty  which  he  can  not 
sef3  to  the  end  of,  even  by  his  eyes,  which  is  about  the 
same  as  to  undertake  no  duty  at  all,  he  conceives  that 
^le  has  a  more  solid  way  of  judging  than  others.  lie 
will  do  nothing  out  of  a  great  sentiment  of  course,  he 
will  break  no  box  of  ointment  on  the  head  of  anybody  f 
be  will  educate  no  son  for  the  ministry,  for  example, 
lest  possibly  he  should  be  only  a  martyr  for  the  truth, 
and  all  that  ha.s  been  spent  upon  him,  should  only  be 
anointing  him  for  his  burial.     Meantime,  what  is  the 


68  THE    INSIGHT    OF    LOVE. 

love  of  Clirist  doing  in  him?  wt.at  great  impnlse  of 
love  does  he  trust  enough  to  follow  it?  He  makes  a 
winter  in  the  name  of  piety,  and  because  nothing  is 
melted  in  the  heat  of  it,  blesses  himself  in  the  sohdity 
of  his  practice !  Possibly  there  may  be  a  little  of  the 
cbristian  love  in  such  a  person,  but  the  signs  are  bad. 
To  be  politic  is  no  certain  way  of  being  gocid,  and  the 
man  who  tries  it,  perils  every  thing. 

4.  We  have  a  striking,  and  at  the  same  time,  most 
inviting  conception  here  given  us,  of  the  perfect  state 
of  society  and  character  in  the  future  life.  Calculation, 
criticism,  moral  codes  and  precepts,  none  of  these  are 
wanted  longer  to  regulate  the  conduct,  all  the  legalities 
are  gone  by.  There  is  no  debate  of  reasons,  no  cas- 
uistry. The  reign  of  simple  love  has  come.  The 
impulse  that  moves  has  its  law  in  itself,  and  every  man 
does  what  is  good,  just  because  only  good  is  in  him. 
There  is  no  scruple,  no  friction,  no  subtlety  of  evil  to 
be  restrained.  The  conduct  of  all  is  pure  water  flowing 
from  a  pure  spring.  And  as  springs  are  unconscious 
of  their  sweetness,  thunders  of  their  sublimity,  flowers 
of  their  beauty,  so  the  perfection  of  character  and  con- 
duct is  consummated  in  a  spontaneous  movement  that 
excludes  all  self- regulation,  and  requires  no  dressing  of 
the  life  by  rules  and  statutes.  All  best  and  noblest 
things  are  done,  as  it  were  naturally ;  for  Christ,  who 
is  formed  within,  must  needs  appear  without  in  acts 
that  represent  himself.  All  acts  of  beauty  and  good 
are  like  that  of  the  woman,  coming  to  anoint  her 
Lord — inspirations  of  the  beauty  she  loved,  wise  without 


THE    INSIGHT    OF    LOVE.  69 

Btudy  or  contrivance,  unconscious,  spontaneous,  and  free. 
This  now  is  society,  this  is  character;  to  this  height  of 
perfection,  this  blessedness  in  good,  our  God  is  raising 
all  that  love  him. 

After  having  sunned  ourselves,  my  friends,  in  this 
bright  picture  above,  some  of  you,  it  may  be,  will  now 
return  to  the  earth  with  a  feeling  more  wearied  and 
worn  by  duty  than  ever.  This  everlasting  and  com- 
punctious study  of  duty,  duty  to  children,  husband 
or  wife,  duty  to  poor  neighbors,  and  bad  neighbors, 
and  impenitent  neighbors,  duty  to  Sunday  Schools, 
duty  to  home  missions  and  missionaries,  duty  to  hea- 
thens and  savages,  duty  to  contrabands  and  wounded 
soldiers,  and  wooden  legs  in  the  streets,  and  limping  beg- 
gers  at  the  door,  duty  to  every  body,  everywhere,  every 
day ;  it  keeps  you  questioning  all  the  while,  rasping  in 
a  torment  of  debates  and  compunctions,  till  you  almost 
groan  aloud  for  weariness.  It  is  as  if  your  life  itself 
were  slavery.  And  then  you  say,  with  a  sigh,  "0,  if  1 
had  nothing  to  do  but  just  to  be  with  Christ  personally, 
and  have  my  duty  solely  as  with  him,  how  sweet  and 
blessed  and  secret  and  free  w^ould  it  be."  Well,  you 
may  have  it  so ;  exactly  this  you  may  do  and  nothing 
more !  Sad  mistake  that  you  should  ever  have  thought 
otherwise !  what  a  loss  of  privilege  has  it  been !  come 
back  then  to  Christ,  retire  into  the  secret  place  of  his 
love,  and  have  your  whole  duty  personally  as  with 
him.  Only  then  j^ou  will  make  this  very  welcome  dis- 
covery, that  as  you  are  personally  given  up  to  Clirist'8 
person,  you  are  going   where  he  goes,  helping  what  he 


70  THE    INSIGHT    OF    LOVE. 

does,  keeping  ever  dear,  bright  company  with  hiin,  in  all 
his  motions  of  good  and  sympathy,  refusing  even  to  let 
him  suffer  without  suffering  with  him.  And  so  jou 
will  do  a  great  many  more  duties  than  you  even  think 
of  now ;  only  they  will  all  be  sweet  and  easy  and  free, 
even  as  your  love  is.  You  will  stoop  low,  and  bear  the 
load  of  many,  and  be  the  servant  of  all,  but  it  will  be  a 
secret  joy  that  you  have  with  your  Master  personally. 
You  will  not  be  digging  out  points  of  conscience,  and 
debating  what  your  duty  is  to  this  or  that,  or  him  or 
her,  or  here  or  yonder ;  indeed  you  will  not  think  that 
you  are  doing  much  for  Christ  any  way — not  half 
enough — and  yet  he  will  be  saying  to  you  every  hour 
in  sweetest  approbatioa — "  Ye  did  it  unto  me."" 


TV. 

SALVATION  FOR  THE  LOST  CONDITION 


^^  For  the  Son  of  Man  is  come  to  save  that  ivhich  tvas 
losty — Math,  xviii.  11. 

Every  kind  of  work  supposes  something  to  be  done, 
some  ground  or  condition  of  fact  to  be  affected  by  it ; 
education  the  fact  of  ignorance,  punishment  the  fact  of 
crime,  charity  the  fact  of  want  Tne  work  of  Christ, 
commonly  called  a  work  of  salvation,  supposes  in  like 
manner  the  fact  of  a  lost  condition,  such  as  makes  sal- 
vation necessary.  So  it  is  that  Christ  himself  conceives 
it,  "  For  the  Son  of  Man  is  come  to  save  that  which 
was  lost."  He  does  not  say,  you  observe,  "  that  which 
is  about  to  be,  or  in  danger  of  being,  lost,"  but  he  uses 
the  past  tense,  "  vms  lost,^^  as  if  it  were  a  fact  already 
consummated,  or,  at  least,  practically  determined.  This 
work,  therefore,  is  to  be  a  salvation,  not  as  being  a  pre- 
ventive, but  as  being  a  remedy  after  the  fact ;  a  super- 
natural provision  by  which  seeds  of  life  are  to  be 
ingenerated  in  a  lapsed  condition  where  there  are  none 
At  this  point  then  Christianity  begins,  this  is  the  grand 
Biibstructural  truth  on  which  it  rests,  that  man  who  is 
to  be  saved  by  it,  is  a  lost  being — already  lost. 

And  yet  there  will  be  many  who  recoil  from  this 


72  SALVATION   FOR 

assumption  of  Christ,  and,  wilaout  any  willing  disre- 
spect to  his  pers(»n,  take  up  a  suspicion  that  he  some- 
how over-states  the  fact  of  our  condition.  They  could 
admit,  without  difficulty,  that  they  are  imperfect,  that 
they  sometimes  do  wrong,  and  that  there  is  often  great 
perversity  in  men,  or  it  may  be  in  themselves.  It 
would  not  shock  them,  if  it  were  declared  that  every 
human  being  wants  forgiveness ;  but  to  say  that  we  are 
lost  beings,  appears  to  be  an  extravagance.  They  do 
not  see  it  in  the  tolerably  comfortable  state  of  the  world, 
and  they  are  not  conscious  of  it  in  themselves ;  they 
think  they  have  even  a  kind  of  instinctive  conviction 
against  it,  and  feel  obliged  to  repel  it  as  injurious  and 
without  evidence. 

Probably  some  of  you  before  me  are  in  just  tliis 
position  of  mind  regarding  the  great  point  stated.  You 
feel  obliged  to  make  issue  with  the  Lord  Jesus  in  re- 
spect  to  it — doing  it,  as  you  believe,  not  from  any  dis- 
position to  have  a  conflict  with  him,  but  simply  because 
you  can  not  assent  to  his  words,  and  seem  even  to  know 
that  the  fact  he  assumes  can  not  be  true.  The  disa- 
greement you  will  admit  is  very  unequal,  but  how  can 
you  assent  to  a  position  that  so  far  violates  your  honest 
convictions. 

What  I  propose  then  at  the  present  time,  not  in  the 
"way  of  controversy,  but  for  your  sake  and  Christ's  sake, 
is  to  go  over  this  matter  in  a  careful  revision,  offering,  if 
I  can,  such  a  statement  of  it  that,  going  out  as  it  were 
from  your  own  center  and  sentiment,  you  will  meet  the 
mind  of  Christ  approvingly.     Perhaps  you  will  so  take 


THE    LOST   CONDITION.  73 

Ins  meaning  as  to  meet  him  with  a  felt  tenderness  in  it, 
such  as  he  most  certainly  reveals  to  you  ;  concluding 
lliis  friendly  negotiation,  so  to  speak,  in  a  reverent, 
believing  acceptance  of  him  as  your  own  great,  neces- 
eary  Saviour.     To  this  end  let  us, 

I.  Clear  av/ay  some  obstructions,  or  points  of  mis- 
conception, that  may  put  your  feeling  at  unnecessary 
variance  with  Christ's  doctrine,  or  give  you  a  sense  of 
revulsion  from  it  that  is  not  really  occasioned  by  any 
thing  in  it. 

Thus,  when  he  says  "  was  lost,"  using  the  past  tense, 
as  if  the  lost  condition  were  a  fact  accompHshed,  you 
do  not  see  that  either  you,  or  the  world  is  in  a  state  of 
undoing  so  completely  reprobate.  But  he  does  not 
mean,  when  he  says  "  was  lost,"  that  the  lost  condition  is 
literally  accomplished  in  the  full  significance  of  it,  but 
only  that  it  is  begun,  with  a  fixed  certainty  of  being  fully 
accomplished ;  that,  as  being  begun,  the  causes  that  are 
loosed  in  it  contain  the  certainty  of  the  fact,  as  truly  as 
if  the  fact  were  fully  executed.  Thus  if  you  see  a  man 
topple  off  the  brink  of  a  precipice  a  thousand  feet  high, 
you  say  inwardly,  the  moment  he  passes  his  center  of 
gravity,  "he  is  gone;  "you  know  it  as  well  as  when 
you  see  him  dashed  in  pieces  on  the  rocks  below  ;  for 
the  causes  that  have  gotten  hold  of  him,  contain  the 
fact  of  his  destruction,  and  he  is  just  as  truly  lost  before 
the  fact  accomplished  as  after.  So  if  a  man  has  taken 
some  deadly  poison  and  the  stupor  has  begun  to  settle 
upon  him  already,  you  say  that  he  is  a  lost  man ;  for 

7 


74  SALVATION    FOR 

the  death-power  is  in  him,  and  jou  know  as  well  that 
he  is  gone,  as  if  he  lay  dead  at  your  feet.  So  a  soul 
under  evil  once  begun,  has  taken  the  poison,  and  the 
bad  causation  at  work  is  fatal ;  it  contains  the  fact  of  a 
ruined  immortality,  in  such  a  sense  that  we  never  ad^^.- 
quately  conceive  it,  save  as  we  give  it  past  tense,  and 
say,  "  was  lost." 

Again,  you  have  heard  of  such  a  thing  as  ''total 
depravity,"  and  the  declaration  of  Christ  may  be  some- 
how associated  with  such  a  conception ;  a  conception 
which  you  instinctively  repel  as  unjust  and  extrava- 
gant, and  contrary  plainly  to  what  you  know  of  the 
many  graces  and  virtues  that  adorn  our  human  life. 
But  this  notion  of  total  depravity  is  no  declaration 
of  Christ,  and  he  is  not  responsible  for  it.  It  is  only  a 
speculated  dogma  of  man,  which  can  be  so  stated  as  to 
be  true,  and  very  often  is  so  stated  as  to  be  false.  You 
have  nothing  to  do  with  it  here. 

It  has  much  to  do,  again  with  your  impressions  on 
this  subject,  that  you  are  so  completely  wide  of  all  sen- 
sibility to,  or  consciousness  of,  the  lost  condition  Christ 
assumes.  Have  you  considered  the  possibility  that  you 
may  be  rather  proving  the  truth  of  it  in  that  manner  ? 
"If  our  gospel  be  hid,"  says  an  apostle,  "it  is  hid  to 
them  that  are  lost."  If  you  have  no  sense  of  being  in 
the  lost  condition  Christ  speaks  of,  if  the  salvation  he 
proposes  seems,  in  that  view,  to  be  an  exaggeration,  a 
fiction,  it  may  be  true  and  is  very  likely  to  be,  that  the 
want  of  proportion  is  in  you  and  not  in  it.  I  say  not 
that  it  is,  I  only  suggest  that  it  may  be.     If  it  is,  then 


THE     LOST    CONDITiOX.  YO 

it  will  appear  by  the  positive  evidence  hereafter  to  be 
given. 

Again,  your  mind  is  an  active  principle,  and  it  keeps 
suggesting,  or  putting  in  your  wa}^,  thoughts  that  run, 
as  it  were,  to  a  contrar}.  conviction ;  as  that  God  is 
good^  and  will  not  put  a  race  in  being,  to  be  lost  regard- 
ing all  good  ends  of  being,  or  that  he  is  a  great  being, 
competent  every  way  to  keep  his  foster  children  safe. 
The  argument  is  short  and  easy,  it  seems  even  to  invent 
itself.  But  there  is  another  counter  suggestion  that  is 
quite  as  likely  to  be  true,  and  has  weight  enough  car 
tainly  to  balance  it ;  viz.,  that  God  wanted  possibl}^,  in 
the  creation  of  men,  free  beings  like  himself,  and  capa- 
ble of  common  virtues  with  himself — not  stones,  or 
trees,  or  animals — and  that,  being  free  and  therefore 
not  to  be  controlled  by  force,  they  must  of  necessity 
be  free  to  evil ;  consequently  never  to  be  set  fast  ir 
common  virtues  with  himself,  except  as  he  goes  down 
after  them  into  evil  and  a  lost  condition,  to  restore  them 
by  a  salvation.  This  being  true,  creatures  may  be 
made,  that  perish,  or  fall  into  lost  conditions.  Besides 
the  world  is  full  of  analogies.  The  blossoms  of  the 
spring  cover  the  trees  and  the  fields,  all  alike  beautiful 
and  fragrant ;  but  they  shortly  strew  the  ground  as 
dead  failures,  even  the  greater  part  of  them^,  having 
set  no  beginning  of  fruit.  And  then  of  the  fruits  that 
are  set  how  many  die  as  abortive  growths,  strewing  the 
ground  again.  How  many  harvests  also  are  blasted, 
yielding  only  straw.  In  the  immense  propagations  of 
the    sea,   what   myriads   die    in  the  first  week  of  life 


76  SAL  V  ATI  ox    FvOR 

Thus  we  find  nature  everywhere  struggling  in  abortive 
growths,  fainting,  as  it  were,  in  the  perfecting  of  what 
hei  prolific  intentions  initiate.  And  all  these  abortions 
are  so  many  tokens  in  the  lower  forms  of  life,  of  the 
possibihty  that  there  also  may  be  blasted  growths  in 
the  higher. 

Once  more  the  amiable  virtues,  high  aspirations,  and 
other  shining  qualities,  ycu  see  in  mankind,  make  the 
assumed  fact  of  our  lost  condition  seem  harsh  and 
extravagant — you  could  not  believe  it  if  you  would. 
But  considering  how  high  and  beautiful  a  nature  the 
soul  is,  it  should  not  surprise  you  that  it  shows  many 
traces  of  dignity  even  after  it  has  fallen  prostrate,  and 
lies  a  broken  statue  on  the  ground.  Besides,  Christ 
himself  had  even  a  more  appreciative  feeling,  in  respect 
to  what  may  be  called  our  natural  character  than  you. 
When  a  certain  young  man,  rich,  but  conscientiously  up- 
right and  nobly  ingenuous,  came  to  him  asking  what  he 
should  do  "  to  inherit  eternal  life?"  though  he  was  obliged 
in  faithfulness  to  answer,  "one  thing  thou  lackest," — 
requiring  him  to  suffer  a  total  change  of  life,  in  the 
sacrifice  of  all  he  had,  and  the  assumption  of  his  cross — 
his  manner  and  look  were  so  visibly  and  affectingly 
tender,  nevertheless,  as  to  attract  the  special  attention 
of  his  disciples,  and  from  them  it  passed  into  the  nar 
rntive,  as  a  distinctly  noted  element  of  description — 
*'  Then  Jesus  beholding  him,  loved  him."  You  might 
not  yourself  have  put  any  such  terms  of  requirement 
upon  him  ;  I  fear  that  you  would  not,  but  would  you, 
with  all  your  sensibilities  to  natural   excellence,  have 


THE    LOST    CONDITION.  7( 

loved  liim  as  much,  or  shown  it  by  signs  as  t»eautifully 
impressive  ? 

Having  noted,  in  this  manner,  so  many  points  of 
unneoessary  revulsion  from  the  fact  of  a  lost  condition, 
assumed  by  Christ  in  his  work  of  salvation,  I  think  I. 
may  take  it  for  granted  that  you  are  ready — 

II.  To  look  at  the  evidence  of  the  fact  and  accept 
the  conclusion  it  brings  you. 

And  the  first  thing  here  to  be  considered  is,  that  our 
blessed  Master,  in  assuming  your  lost  condition,  is  not 
doing  it  harshly,  or  in  any  manner  of  severity.  He  is 
no  dogmatist,  making  out  his  article  of  depravity.  He 
is  not  a  teacher  of  that  light  quality  that  permits  him 
to  be  pleased  with  appalling  severities  of  rhetoric,  and 
over-drawn  allegations  of  fact,  without  any  due  sense 
of  their  meaning.  His  feeling  is  tender,  never  censo- 
rious. Sometimes,  by  a  kind  of  divine  politeness  so  to 
speak,  he  puts  a  face  on  human  character  and  relations 
that  avoids  a  look  of  impeachment  where  impeachment 
would  be  true;  as  when  he  speaks  of  "laying  down  his 
life  for  his  friends."  He  could  have  said  "enemies" 
quite  as  truly,  or  even  more  so,  but  did  not  like  to  put 
that  now  upon  his  disciples.  In  the  same  kind  way  of 
consideration,  but  with  a  deeper  feeling,  he  apologizes 
to  God  for  his  murderers,  even  in  the  article  of  death, 
and  apparently  comforts  himself  in  the  allowance — 
"Father  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what  they 
do."     Is  it  such  a  being  that  will  thresh  you  in  random 


78  SALVATION    FOR 

charges,  the  severity  of  which  is  apparent  t(5  voi.i  and 
not  to  him?  You  can  not  saj  it,  or  even  be  willing  to 
think  it. 

Furthermore,  it  must  be  evident  to  you,  as  it  has  been 
to  all  most  unrestrained  critics  and  deniers,  that  his  moral 
sentiments  and  standards  are  high  and  sharp  beyona 
comparison — higher  and  sharper  certainly  than  yours 
Ke  has  also  a  most  piercing  insight  of  all  that  is  deepest 
in  character  and  its  wants;  as,  by  force  of  his  most 
singular  purity  alone,  he  must  of  necessity  have ;  what 
then  will  you  sooner  believe,  when  he  calls  yon  a  lost 
man,  than  that,  possibly,  he  knows  you  more  ade- 
quately than  you  know  yourself?  Having  then  some 
better  right  than  joi\  to  know,  w^hat  does  he  in  fact 
say? 

I  might  go  to  the  other  scriptures,  citing  declarations 
from  them ;  and  especially  from  the  writings  of  Paul, 
who  discusses  this  very  point  many  times  over,  showing 
by  the  most  cogently  close  and  formal  arguments,  the 
fallen  state  of  disability  and  subjection  to  evil,  ont  of 
which  Christ  has  undertaken  to  raise  you ;  but  I  prefer 
to  keep  the  question  still  and  altogether  between  you  and 
him,  and  therefore  I  shall  not  cite  an}^  words  but  his. 
Notice  then  his  parables  of  the  lost  sheep,  and  the  lost 
piece  of  mone}^,  not  omitting  to  observe  that  he  is  here 
sharpening  no  point  of  allegation  against  men,  but  only 
setting  forth  the  joy  that  will  accrue  to  the  angels  of 
God,  and  all  good  beings,  when  they  are  restored.  Is 
it  in  this  attitude  of  feeling  that  he  is  launching  hard 
or  unjust  judgments  upon  them?     He  also  speaks  of  a 


THE    LOST    CONDITION.  79 

state  of  ''condemnation,"  declaring  in  a  manifestly 
gentle  feeling,  that  lie  has  not  come  to  condemn  but  to 
save  the  world,  yet  still  obliged  to  add — "he  that 
believeth  not  is  condemned  already."  What  is  this 
state  condemned  of  God  but  a  lost  condition  under 
another  figure?  He  uses  also  the  figure  of  death, 
spiritual  death,  in  the  same  manner,  saying — "I  am 
the  life."  "  My  Son  was  dead  and  is  alive  again,  was 
lost  and  is  found."  "  Is  passed  from  death  unto  life." 
"  For  Grod  so  loved  the  world,  that  he  gave  his  only  be- 
gotten Son,  that  whosoever  believeth  on  him  should  not 
perish,  but  have  everlasting  life."  Death  is  the  con- 
dition of  disorder  and  spiritual  dissolution,  which  is  a 
lost  condition.  Life  is  salvation,  because  it  is  the  con- 
dition of  harmony  restored ;  where  part  answers  again  to 
part,  function  to  function,  in  a  complete  living  order. 
The  lost  condition  he  also  calls  a  state  of  "darkness" 
and  "blindness,"  and  to  it  becomes  as  "the  light"  and 
"  the  way."  Who  is  more  profoundly  lost  than  he  that 
walks  groping  for  the  wall?  He  conceives  the  lost 
condition  as  a  state  of  moral  disability,  in  which  men 
"have  eyes"  which  "can  not  see,"  and  "ears  which 
can  not  hear,"  and  are  able  no  longer  to  convert,  or  heal 
themselves.  It  even  requires  a  divine  power  in  us,  he 
conceives,  if  we  are  to  make  any  real  approach  to 
good — "  Ko  man  can  come  to  me,  except  the  Father 
which  hath  sent  me  draw  him."  Not  to  multiply  cita 
tions  further,  take  the  one  practical  exhibition  of  his 
discourse  on  regeneration.  The  doctrine  is  that  man, 
as  he  conceives  him,  is  in  such  a  condition  that  nothing 


80  SALVATION   FOR 

short  of  a  divine  movement  upon  him,  can  bring  him 
back,  into  that  character  and  felicity  for  which  he  waa 
made.  "  Yerily,  verily  I  say  unto  yon,  except  a  man 
be  born  again  " — "  born  of  the  Spirit," — "  he  can  not 
see  the  kingdom  of  God." 

These  now  are  Christ's  convictions,  most  tenderly, 
faithfully,  and  variously  expressed,  concerning  man, 
or  the  lost  condition  of  man — your  lost  condition.  He 
does  not  come  to  some  very  bad  men,  saying  these 
things,  but  he  speaks  comprehensively  to  the  race,  and 
grounds  his  work  of  salvation  fixedly  upon  the  lost 
condition  affirmed. 

You  will  not  hear  them  disrespectfully.  Still  it  will 
not  be  strange  if  your  feeling  is  unsatisfied.  "  If  it  be 
so  with  me,"  you  will  ask,  "why  may  it  not  somehow 
be  made  to  appear?"  Let  me  take  you  then  a  step  fur- 
ther, into  another  field,  where  I  think  it  will  appear. 

As  the  matter  lies  between  you  and  Christ,  and  he 
has  spoken  already,  I  will  take  you  now  to  yourself. 
Think  it  not  strange,  if  your  heart  answers,  after  all,  to 
the  heart  of  Jesus,  and  re-affirms  exactly  what  he  has 
testified. 

You  live  in  a  world  where  there  is  certainly  some 
wrong — you  have  seen  it,  suffered  from  it,  and  con- 
sciously done  it.  But  all  wrong,  it  will  be  agreed,  is 
something  done  against  the  perfect  and  right  will  of 
God,  and  a  shock  must  of  necessity  follow  it.  Suppose 
a  machinist  to  produce  a  machine,  some  one  wheel  of 
which  will  somehow  run  directly  the  other  way  from 
what  was  intended — does  run  the  other  way  for  some 


THE    LOST    CONDITION.  81 

space,  longer  or  shorter,  every  few  "hours.  It  will  go 
into  confusion  of  course  and  become  a  total  wreck. 
So  a  soul  going  against  the  will  of  God,  in  acts  of 
wroE^,  breaks  God's  order  in  it.  Taken  as  a  functional 
structure,  all  the  parts  of  which  are  to  play  hanno- 
iiiously  into  each  other,  disorder  and  ruin  begin  just 
when  wrong  begins,  and  all  its  goings  on  afterward 
accelerate  and  aggravate  the  disorder.  As  the  junc- 
tures and  functions  are  no  more  in  heaven's  order,  it  is 
practically  undone.  Then,  as  the  body  is  the  soul's 
organ,  the  damage  is  propagated  as  disease  in  that. 
And  then,  as  society  is  made  up  of  souls  and  bodies, 
that  also  becomes  an  element  of  discord,  infested  with 
lies,  grudges,  enmities,  jealousies,  breaches  of  trust  and 
of  contract,  deeds  of  injustice  and  robbery;  history 
itself  a  volume,  the  main  chapters  of  which  report  the 
conflicts  of  war,  the  oppressions  of  slavery,  the  wrongs 
of  woman,  the  hard  fortunes  of  industrj^,  the  corrup- 
tions of  courts  and  governments,  the  intrigues  of  diplo- 
macy, the  persecutions  of  the  good. 

But  I  refer  you  to  society  thus  onlj^  in  a  way  of 
transition,  and  return  immediately  to  the  main  question 
as  it  stands  in  the  revelations  of  your  own  personal 
consciousness.  It  has  always  seemed  to  me  that  who- 
ever will  accurately  note  his  own  inward  working,  for 
but  one  half  hour,  must  even  be  appalled  by  the  dis 
coteries  he  will  make.  You  distinguish  first  of  all  a 
certain  shyness,  or  feeling  of  recoil  from  God — why 
should  you  withdraw  instinctively  thus  from  a  being 
wholly  good  and  pure?     It  was  just  this  feeling  that 


82  SALVATION     FOR 

Adam  had,  after  the  sin,  when  he  withdrew  and  hid 
himself  in  the  garden.  Guilt  is  at  the  bottom  of  this 
shyness.  And  what  is  a  more  certainly  lost  feeling 
than  the  feeling  of  guilt?  "Who  can  stop  it,  or  smooth 
it  away,  by  any  thing  done  upon  himself?  It  testifies 
to  a  fact — can  you  ever  annihilate  that  fact?  No  more 
can  you  stop  the  guilt  which  is  only  a  fit  remem- 
brance of  it. 

You  discover  also  a  certain  look  of  disproportion, 
that  is  painfully  significant.  Your  ambition  is  too 
high  for  your  possibilities  and  your  place.  Your  pas- 
sion is  too  strong  for  your  prudence.  Your  prudence 
too  close  for  your  affections.  Your  irritability  too  fiery 
at  times  for  both.  Your  resentments  are  too  impetuous 
for  your  occasions.  Your  appetites  too  large  for  your 
possibilities  of  safe  indulgence.  Your  will  over-rules 
your  conscience.  Your  inclinations  master  the  dictates 
of  your  reason.  And  what  is  more  sadly  humiliating 
than  any  thing  else,  your  great  aspirations  have  some 
weight  upon  them  which  they  can  not  lift,  falling  back 
baffled  and  spent,  with  no  power  left  but  to  notify  you 
Df  their  constant  failure.  Your  great  ideals  too,  reveal- 
ing, as  it  were,  the  summits  of  a  magnificent  nature,  and 
lifting  their  flags  of  inspiration  there,  are  yet  draggled 
somehow  and  drugged  by  low  impulses,  that  make  you 
a  mockery  to  yourself  in  your  attainments.  A  kind 
of  inversion  appears  in  every  thing — sure  indication  of 
disorder. 

There  is  disagreement  also,  as  well  as  disproportion, 
^our  practical  judgments  of  things  disagree  with  your 


THE     LOST   CONDITION.  88 

real  wants,  magnifying  toj^s  of  sense,  to  leave  you 
aching  for  God  and  the  unseen  good  of  the  mind. 
Your  eyes  discover  good  in  shows  and  outward  prefer- 
ments, your  convictions  place  it  in  truth  and  character 
Your  generous  and  high  sentiments  look  down  with 
scorn  upon  the  sordid  and  cowardly  impulses  of  your 
selfishness,  to  be,  in  turn,  alas!  how  often,  mastered  in 
the  conflict  with  them.  Your  feeling  of  independence 
knuckles  to  conventionalities,  and  what  began  as  a  war, 
is  ended  as  a  truce,  in  which  you  agree,  as  a  kind  of 
independent  abject,  to  hold  every  thing  in  scorn  that  is 
not  under  the  fashion.  Your  eternal  convictions  quar- 
rel with  your  passions,  and  your  will  quarrels  feebly 
with  both,  misgiving  under  one,  succumbing  to  the 
other.  The  whole  internal  man  is  a  troubled  element. 
You  hardly  know,  many  times,  what  to  think,  on 
the  plainest  subjects  of  duty  and  religion,  and  are 
most  facile  to  what  you  least  -approve.  You  ask 
where  you  are  ?  and  think  you  do  not  know ;  what 
to  believe?  and  say  you  can  not  find;  w^hat  to  do? 
and  do  what  you  would  not;  what  to  avoid?  and 
do  it.  Your  mind  is  full  of  distraction — in  endless 
mazes  lost. 

Take  another  and  simpler  view  of  your  disorder,  do 
just  what  so  few  men  ever  did,  sit  down  for  an  hour, 
and  watch  the  run  of  your  thoughts.  Nothing  flow^s 
in  regular  causation,  no  law  of  suggestion  can  be 
more  than  faintly  traced.  As  a  man  who  is  lost  in  a 
deep  forest,  turns  confusedly  one  way  and  the  other, 
unable  to  set  his  mind  in  a  train  of  deliberative  order, 


84  SALVATION    FOR 

SO  it  is  wi  til  you.  Your  thoughts  huddle  on,  crossing 
all  lines,  breaking  through  all  trains,  refusing  all 
terms  of  order,  uncontrolled,  uncontrollable;  even 
as  droves  in  the  jostle  of  panic  before  a  prairie  fire. 
The  law  of  right  proceeding  appears  to  be  somehow 
broken,  the  suggestions  are,  how  often,  base,  impure, 
and  low,  and  withal  defy  any  look  of  system.  What 
jumps  of  transition !  how  incongruous,  unaccountable, 
and  wild !  Could  the  internal  picture  be  mapped  to  the 
eye,  what  eye  could  trace  it !  It  is  as  if  the  soul  were 
an  instrument  played  by  demons.  How  unlike  to  the 
sweet  flow  of  order  and  health  in  the  mind  of  an  angel. 
The  metaphysicians  do  indeed  make  up  their  solutions, 
showing  how  every  thing  goes  on  by  a  law  of  sugges- 
tion or  association  in  a  strictly  normal  process.  Their 
farthing  candle  gives  a  very  little  faint  light,  wholly 
insufficient,  however,  as  regards  the  main  question 
The  single  word  disease  tells  more  than  all  their  specu 
lations.  Watching  these  wild  ways  of  thought,  we  dis- 
tinguish a  ferment  of  death,  and  not  the  flow  of  life. 
The  look  is  abnormal ;  as  if  the  soul  were  in  a  kind 
of  dissolution.  No  man,  duly  observing  thus  himself, 
will  easily  doubt  that  he  is  somehow  lost.  The  appall- 
ing doubt,  whether  he  can  ever  be  saved  will  be  more 
natural.  What  a  work  indeed  to  save  him,  restore  him, 
that  is,  to  the  state  of  inward  health,  raise  him  up  into 
the  orderly  movement  of  angelic  life,  and  make  the  car 
rents  flow  m^elodious  and  clear. 

Glance  now  a  moment,  at  the  disabilities  that   have 
somehow  come  upon  you,  in  what  the  Saviour  calls 


THE    LOST   CONDITION.  85 

voar  lost  condition.  You  never  encountered  any 
trouble,  it  may  be,  on  this  point,  never  thought  of  being 
under  any  such  disability  as  he  speaks  of.  Have  you  not 
your  will,  your  strong  will  left?  Yes,  but  the  difficulty 
is  to  execute,  or  carry  through  what  you  will  to  be  done. 
When  you  resolve  to  govern  yourself,  thus  or  thus,  or 
to  be  this  or  that,  according  to  some  ideal  conceived, 
does  your  soul  mind  you?  do  you  become  forthwith 
such  as  you  undertook  to  be  ?  Are  there  no  currents 
of  habit  encountered,  no  floods  of  contrary  impulse,  no 
volcanic  fires  of  irritation,  that  prove  quite  too  strong 
for  you?  Suppose  you  determine  with  all  seriousness, 
now,  or  at  some  future  time,  to  begin  a  religious  hfe. 
Is  it  begun  ?  You  find  base  motives  creeping  into  your 
mind,  which  you  disrespect  and  determine  to  shut  them 
away.  Do  you  succeed  ?  You  grow  sick  of  the  world 
in  one  form  or  another,  and  rise  up  to  cast  it  out.  Does 
it  go  ?  You  conceive  a  true  notion  of  spiritual  dignity 
and  beauty  of  character,  and  set  yourself  to  the  attain- 
ment. Do  you  reach  it?  Try  a  thing  more  brave  and 
certainly  not  less  necessary;  take  stiff  hold  of  your 
thoughts,  set  your  will  down  upon  them  and  still  their 
tumult,  and  tame  their  wild  way,  into  the  sweet  order 
of  health  and  rational  proceeding.  Can  you  do  it? 
Could  any  thing  be  more  preposterous  even  than  to  try  ? 
And  3-et  there  is  no  true  perfection  of  soul  that  does 
not  include  even  this ;  including  also,  in  the  same  way, 
all  that  belongs  to  internal  order,  proportion,  agree- 
ment, and  a  full  consent  of  all  functions  and  powers. 
Have  you  courage  to  undertake  such  perfection  ?     This 

8 


86  SALVATION    FOR 

now  is  the  verj'  profound  disability  m  which  Christ 
finds  you  yourself.  Perhaps  you  never  saw  it  before, 
but  he  looks  upon  you  tenderly  in  ii,  and  counts  you 
to  be  lost — is  any  thing  more  certainly,  manifestly  true? 
This  brings  me  to  speak — 

III  Of  the  salvation — what  it  is,  and  by  what  means 
or  methods  it  is  wrought.  Too  short  a  space  is  left  me, 
you  will  see,  to  allow  an}^  thing  but  a  very  condensed 
statement.  Excluding  then  all  that  may  be  held,  or 
contended  for,  as  regards  the  matter  of  expiation  for  sin, 
or  the  final  satisfaction  of  God's  justice,  in  the  death  of 
Christ — which  can,  at  the  most,  be  no  proper  salvation 
from  the  inward  disorder  and  disability  we  have  discov- 
ered— we  come  directly  to  the  question,  how  the  death 
is  quickened,  how  the  lost  condition  of  the  old  man  is, 
or  is  to  be,  renewed  by  Christ,  in  his  work  considered 
as  a  salvation  ? 

Manifestly  this  can  be  done  only  by  some  means,  or 
operation,  that  respects  the  soul's  free  nature,  working 
in,  upon,  or  through  consent  in, us,  and  so  new  ordering 
the  soul. 

Not  then,  by  some  divine  act  in  the  force  principle 
of  omnipotence,  some  new  creating  stroke  from  behind, 
that  restores  our  disorder ;  the  change  thus  accom- 
plished is  a  mending  by  repair,  and  not  a  recovery ; 
omnipotence,  not  Christ,  is  the  Saviour. 

As  little  is  it  by  some  help  given  to  your  develop- 
ment, or  self-culture,  or  even  self- reformation.  When 
Lord   Chesterfield  gives   disquisitions   on   the   elegant 


thelostcojs^dition.  y< 

properties  of  good  manners  and  polite  conduct,  he 
speaks  to  men  as  having  a  power  to  fashion  themselves 
by  his  rules.  Christ  is  no  professor  of  goodness  in  that 
way.  He  calls  you  never  to  go  about  being  better. 
He  does  not  so  much  as  call  upon  you  to  stifle  your  deep 
hunger,  by  satisfying  your  own  wants.  He  does  not 
even  put  you  climbing  after  the  glorious  ideals  you 
have,  and  the  still  more  glorious  he  gives  you  from  his 
own  life  and  person ;  as  if  you  could  get  inspiration 
from  these  to  raise  yourself.  The  Chesterfieldian 
method,  and  the  merely  moral  of  Socrates,  are  not  his. 
These  were  instructors,  not  Saviours,  speaking  both  to 
men,  not  to  lost  men — what  you  want,  and  what  Christ 
undertakes  to  be,  is  a  Saviour  for  lost  men.  No  scheme 
of  Christianity,  so  called,  includes  a  gospel,  which  does 
not  include  this.  Any  Christ,  who  does  not  come  to 
save  lost  men,  is  antichrist,  or  at  best  no  Christ  at  all ; 
for  who  can  be  the  Lord's  true  Christ,  not  coming,  as 
life  to  death,  peace  within  to  discord  within,  order  to 
disorder,  liberty  to  bondage? 

We  must  look,  in  fact,  for  some  such  being  as  can 
be  a  World's  Regenerator ;  making  good  the  fact  that 
God  has  not  created  us  for  a  lost  condition,  but  for  salva- 
tion. Doubtless  it  may  be  true  that  God  could  not  bring 
us  on  as  free,  by  an}^  straight  line  progress  of  develop- 
ment, into  the  character  he  meant  for  us,  and  the  relation 
to  Himself,  that  was  to  be  our  joy  and  his.  As  ihe 
ancient  poets  tell  us  of  this  or  that  hero  of  theirs,  who 
went  down  to  hell,  fought  away  the  th^ee-headed  dog 
at  the  gate,  and  passed  the  Stygian  river  and  when  the 


88  SALVATION   FOR 

grim  reconnoisance  was  over,  forced  his  way  haek, 
even  by  the  judgment  bar  of  Eadamanthus,  out  into 
the  light;  so  there  was  to  be,  we  may  believe,  an  epic 
descent  of  souls  into  the  hell-state  of  disorder  and  j  udi- 
cial  condemnation,  and  a  bursting  up  again,  out  of  their 
penal  imprisonment,  into  life  and  free  dominion.  But 
if  the  soul-history  could  aot  be  a  simply  quiet  educing 
of  good,  if  it  must  be  inherently  terrible,  plunging 
down  through  gulfs  of  disaster  and  loss,  in  the  mad 
experiment  of  wrong,  even  as  it  is  itself  inherently 
free ;  then  a  Saviour  is  required  who  can  sound  the 
bottom  of  such  gulfs,  and  bring  np  the  lost  ones,  into 
that  good  and  glory  eternal  for  which  they  were  made. 
This  is  Christ  the  Lord,  coming,  as  in  everlasting  coun- 
sel, to  execute  a  salvation  prepared  before  the  founda- 
tion of  the  world. 

He  works  by  no  fiat  of  absolute  will,  as  when  God 
said  "  let  there  be  light."  He  respects  your  moral 
nature,  doing  it  no  violence.  He  moves  on  your  con- 
sent, by  moving  on  your  convictions,  wants,  sensibil- 
ities, and  sympathies.  He  is  the  love  of  God,  the 
beauty  of  God,  the  mercy  of  God — God's  whole  char- 
acter, brought  nigh  through  a  proper  and  true  Son  of 
Man,  a  nature  fellow  to  your  own,  thus  to  renovate 
and  raise  your  own.  Meeting  you  at  the  point  of  }  >ur 
fall  and  disorder,  as  being  himself  incarnated  into  the 
corporate  evil  of  your  state,  he  brings  you  God's  gieat 
feeling  to  work  on  yours.  He  is  deeply  enough  entered 
into  your  case,  to  let  the  retributive  causes  loosened  by 
your  sin  roll  over  him  in  his  innocence,  doing  honor 


THE   LOST   CONDITION.  89 

tlius  to  God's  judicial  order,  that  yon  may  see  it  suffi- 
ciently hallowed  without  your  punishment.  And  that 
he  may  get  the  greater  and  more  constraining  power 
over  you,  he  reveals  to  you  by  his  suffering  death,  the 
suffering  state  of  God's  perfection — stung  by  the 
wrongs,  and  moved  in  holy  grief  for  the  sad  and 
shameful  lot  of  his  fallen  children.  His  suffering  is  in 
fact  the  tragic  hour  of  divine  goodness ;  for  what  to  our 
slow  feeling,  is  even  eternal  goodness,  till  we  see  it  tragi- 
cally moved?  Nay,  it  was  even  necessary,  if  trans- 
gressors were  to  have  their  dull  heart  opened  to 
this  goodness,  that  they  should  see  it  persecuted  and 
gibbeted  by  themselves.  Thus,  and  therefore,  he  dies, 
raising  by  his  death  at  our  hands,  those  terrible  con- 
victions that  will  rend  our  bosom  open  to  his  love — 
dies  for  love's  sake  into  love  in  us.  So  he  will  become 
the  power  of  God  unto  salvation,  gathering  you  in,  as  it 
were,  with  all  your  disorders,  into  the  infolding,  new- 
creating  sympathy  of  his  own  character  in  good ;  so 
that  being  thus  infolded  in  him,  all  your  disproportion, 
discord,  disability,  and  all  wild  tumult  of  the  mind 
will  be  new  crystallized  in  his  divine  order.  Thus  ends 
the  ferment  of  death,  succeeded  by  the  harmony  and 
health  of  new-born  life.  In  this  view  it  was  that 
Christ  said,  "I  am  the  life."  And  the  same  thing  was 
differently  put,  when  he  said  "  and  I,  if  I  be  lifted 
up,  will  draw  all  men  unto  me."  He  would  draw 
by  his  death,  moving  on  consent  and  choice,  so  to  ga'iher 
in  fill  our  disorder,  into  the  molds  of  his  own  per- 
fect life. 

8* 


90  SALVATION   FOR 

And  tliis  is  salvation,  the  entering  of  tt.e  soul  inta 
God's  divine  order ;  for  nothing  is  in  order  that  is  not 
in  G-od,  having  God  flow  through  it  by  his  perfect  will, 
even  as  he  swaj^s  to  unsinning  obedience  the  tides  of  the 
sea,  and  the  rounds  of  the  stars.  As  we  are  lost  men 
when  lost  to  God,  so  we  find  ourselves  when  we  find 
G  od.  And  then,  how  consciously  do  the  soul's  broken 
members  coalesce  and  meet  in  Christ's  order,  when 
Christ  hveth  in  them.  In  this  new  relationship,  the 
spirit  of  love  and  of  a  sound  mind,  all  strength,  free 
beauty,  solid  vigor,  get  their  spring — we  are  no  more 
lost.  All  that  is  in  God  or  Christ  his  Son,  flows  in 
upon  us — wisdom,  righteousness,  sanctification,  redemp- 
tion. We  are  new  men  created  in  righteousness  after 
God.  Even  so,  "in  righteousness;"  for  we  are  new- 
charactered  in  God,  closeted  so  to  speak  in  God's  per- 
fections— in  that  manner  justified,  as  if  we  had  never 
dnned,  justified  by  faith.  We  have  put  on  righteous- 
less,  and  in  it  we  are  clothed ;  even  the  righteousness 
of  God,  which  is  by  faith  of  Jesus  Christ,  unto  all  and 
upon  all  them  that  believe. 

This  is  the  salvation  that  our  God  is  working  in  his 
Son,  but  as  the  great  apostle  here  intimates,  it  is,  and  is 
to  be,  by  faith ;  for  the  result  can  never  be  issued  save 
as  we,  on  our  part  believe.  The  very  plan,  or  mode  of 
his  working  supposes  a  necessity  of  faith  in  us.  For 
as  God  comes  nigh  us  in  his  son,  he  can  be  a  salva- 
tion, only  as  we  come  nigh  responsively  to  Him,  yieldmg 
our  feeling  to  the  cogent  working  of  his.  And  this 
we  do  in   faith.     Faith  is  the  act  by  which  one  being 


THE    LOST   CONDITION.  91 

confides  in  another,  trusting  up  himself  to  that  other, 
in  what  he  is  and  undertakes.  And  there  is  nothing 
that  puts  a  man  so  close  to  another's  feeling,  principle, 
and  character,  as  this  act  of  trust.  When  you  put  such 
faith  in  a  man,  his  opinions,  ways,  and  even  accents  of 
voice  have  a  wonderfully  assimilative  power  in  yci. 
It  is  as  if  your  life  were  overspread  by  his,  included  in 
his.  To  be  nigh  a  great  good  mind,  accepted  in  trust 
and  friendship,  is,  in  this  manner,  one  of  the  greatest 
possible  advantages,  and  especially  so  for  a  young  per- 
son. In  this  fact  you  have  the  reason  of  that  faith  in 
Christ  which  is  made  the  condition  of  salvation.  For 
it  is  even  your  chance  of  salvation,  as  a  lost  man,  that 
a  being  has  come  into  the  world,  so  great  in  character 
and  feeling,  that  turning  to  be  with  him,  he  shall  be  in 
yc  u.  And  therefore,  it  is  that  his  apostle  says — "  Christ 
the  power  of  God  to  every  one  that  believeth;"  and  he 
himself — "he  that  believeth  shall  be  saved."  He  can 
be  no  sufficient  power,  work  no  principle  of  life,  save 
as  he  is  welcomed  to  the  heart  by  faith.  In  the  same 
w\ay,  he  calls  you  to  "  come,"  for  coming  is  faith.  And 
when  he  says,  "  come  unto  me  all  ye  that  are  weary  and 
heavy  laden,  learn  of  me  and  ye  shall  find  rest  to  your 
souls,"  he  does  not  speak,  as  many  think,  to  such  as  are 
only  afflicted,  world-sick,  tired,  pining  in  weal^:  self- 
sympath}^,  but  to  them  who  are  weary  of  their  own 
evils,  tosscvi  and  rent  by  their  own  disorders,  thrown 
out  of  rest  by  the  tumult  of  their  thoughts  and  bosom 
troubles,  starving  in  their  own  deep  wants,  crushed  by 
their  felt  disabilities  to   good — in    a   word,  lost   men. 


92  ^        SALVATION   FOR,     ETC. 

Thus  he  speaks  to  you.  And  you  come  when  you 
truly  beheve  in  him.  Then  you  rest,  rest  in  God's  har 
mony,  rest  in  peace — knowing  in  the  blissful  revelation 
of  fact,  how  much  it  means  that  the  Son  of  Man  ij 
come  to  save  that  which  was  lost. 


THE  FASTING   AND   TEMPTATION   OE   JESDB 


''^Then  was  Jesus  led  up  of  the  Spirit  into  the  ioildernes$ 
to  he  tempted  of  the  devil.  And  when  he  had  fasted  forty 
days  and  forty  nights^  he  was  afterward  an  hungered^ — 
Math.  iv.  1-2. 

I  think  I  do  not  mistake,  when  I  assume  that  thia 
particular  chapter  of  the  gospel  history,  commonly 
called  the  temptation^  is  just  the  one  that  a  good  many 
theologians,  and  a  much  larger  number  of  Christian 
disciples,  do  really,  if  not  consciously,  wish  had  not 
oeen  written ;  that  which  most  stumbles  their  specula- 
tion, and  least  fructifies  their  spiritual  impressions; 
that  which  wears  the  most  suspiciously  mythic  look, 
that  which  they  skip  most  frequently  in  the  reading,  or, 
if  they  read,  only  gather  up  their  minds  to  go  on  with 
due  attention,  after  they  are  through  with  it. 

Jesus  Immanuel,  the  eternal  Word  incarnate,  inno- 
cence itself  and  purity,  the  only  perfect  being  that  ever 
trod  the  earth,  fasting !  opening  his  great  ministry  of 
life  in  a  fast  of  forty  days,  and  a  conflict  with  the  devil 
for  so  long  a  time !  Coming  down,  as  he  himself  declares, 
from  heaven,  to  set  up  the  kingdom  of  God  among  men, 
he  goes  to  his  work  as  if  it  were  a  deed  of  repentance — 
out  of  a  desert,  out  of  a  fast — inaugurating  his  sublime 


94  THE    FASTING   AND 

kingship  by  austerities  and  fierce  mental  confliets,  such 
as  guilt}^  souls  might  undergo  for  their  chastening. 
The  picture  is  incongruous,  many  think,  and  revolting  tc 
faith.  Besides  they  have  a  settled  disrespect  to  fasting 
itself 

Wnat  I  propose  then  at  the  present  time,  is  a  careful 
inquiry  into  the  matter. — The  fasting  of  Jesus  in  the 
wilderness.  My  hope  is,  that  I  shall  be  able  to  clear 
this  remarkable  scene  of  what  many  regard  as  its  for- 
bidding, or  unwelcome  aspect.  I  even  hope  to  open 
up  a  conception  of  it  that  will  place  it  along  side  of  the 
agony  and  the  cross,  and  will  make  it  correspondently 
dear  to  all  most  thoughtful,  practically  earnest  souls. 

In  the  descent  of  the  Spirit  upon  him  at  his  baptism, 
he  passes  his  great  inward  crisis  of  call  and  endowment, 
the  effect  of  which  the  gospels  report,  in  terms  that 
require  to  be  distinctly  noted ;  saying,  one  that  he  is 
"led  up,"  [transported,]  another,  that  he  is  "led,"  [taken 
away,]  another,  that  he  is  "driven"  by  the  Spirit  into 
the  wilderness.  Under  all  these  rather  violent  forms 
of  expression,  the  fact  is  signified,  that  the  Spirit, 
coming  here  upon  him  in  the  full  revelation  of  his 
call,  raises  such  a  ferment,  in  his  bosom,  of  great 
thoughts  and  strangely  contesting  emotions,  that  he  is 
hurried  away  to  the  wilderness,  and  the  state  of  privacy 
before  God,  for  relief  and  settlement.  He  was  not 
wholly  unapprised  of  his  Messiahship  before,  bui  had 
come  to  no  adequate  impression  of  what,  as  Messiah, 
he  was  to  do  and  to  be.     He  began  at  twelve  years  of 


TEMPTATION   OF   .IKSUS.  95 

age,  to  talk,  in  words  profoundly  enigmatical  to  his 
friends,  of  being  "about  his  Father's  business."  He 
was  reading  also,  from  that  time  onward,  the  prophets, 
so  often  quoted  by  him  afterward,  and  his  soul  wa^ 
making  answer  more  and  more  consciously  to  their 
words,  even  as  a  bell  that  chimes  responsively  to  some 
quivering  harmony  of  sound  that  is  felt  upon  the  air. 
Still  he  was  so  far  from  expecting  a  public  inaugural  in 
John's  baptism,  that  when  John  objects,  saying  "comest 
thou  to  me?"  he  only  pleads  the  comnion  reason  of 
the  multitude,  a  desire  "to  fulfill  all  righteousness,"  in 
the  accepting  of  John's  righteous  ministry. 

As  he  was  human,  so  there  was  to  be  a  humanly 
progressive  opening  of  his  mind,  and  a  growing  pre- 
sentiment of  his  great  future.  All  which  makes  the 
revelation,  when  it  comes,  only  the  greater  and  more 
astounding,  because  he  is  just  so  much  more  capable  of 
taking  the  fit  impression  of  it.  Nor  does  it  make  any 
difference  what  particular  account  we  frame  of  his 
person.  If  there  is  a  divine-nature  soul,  and  a  human- 
nature  soul,  existing  together  in  him  as  one  person, 
that  one  person  must  be  in  the  human  type,  unfolding  by 
a  human  process,  toward  the  consciously  great  Mes- 
siahship  he  is  going  to  fulfill.  If  he  is  pure  divinity 
incarnate,  he  is  not  simply  housed  or  templed  in  the 
flesh,  biit  inhumanized,  categorized  in  humanity,  there 
to  grow,  to  learn,  to  be  unfolded  under  human  condi- 
tions of  progress. 

And  then  it  is  only  a  part  of  the  same  general  view, 
that  when  his  endowment  settles  upon  him,  as  it  does  id 


96  THE    FASTING    AND 

the  scene  of  his  baptism,  it  raises  iu  liis  feeling  just  tliG 
same  kind  of  commotion  that  is  raised  in  any  /ery  great 
and  really  upright  human  soul— as,  for  example,  in  that 
0/  a  prophet — when  his  call  arrives.  There  has  been  a 
mighty  apprehension  waking  gradually  in  him  before, 
and  now  there  is  a  mighty  breaking  in,  as  it  were  at 
once,  of  the  tremendous  call;  all  the  great  movings 
attendant — sentiments,  misgivings,  joys  of  hope,  agonies 
of  concern — coming  in  with  it,  like  the  coming  in  of  the 
sea.  The  surges  break  all  round  him,  and  the  little 
skiff  of  humanity  that  he  has  taken  for  his  voyage 
quivers  painfully — quivers  even  the  worse  that  it  feels  the 
heavy  armament  aboard  of  so  great  purpose  and  power. 
An  amazing  transformation  is  suddenly  wrought  in 
his  consciousness.  As  heaven  opens  above  to  let  forth 
the  voice,  and  let  down  the  power,  and  the  gate  is  set 
open  before  him  to  let  him  forward  into  his  great  future 
as  a  world's  Eedeemer ;  as  every  thing  opens  every  way 
to  prepare  his  mighty  kingship,  and  he  feels  the  Mes- 
sianic forces  heaving  in  his  breast,  he  reels  so  to  speak, 
under  the  new  sense  he  has  of  himself  and  his  charge, 
moved  all  through  in  a  movement  so  tremendous  that 
every  faculty  groans  in  the  pressure,  like  a  forest  sway- 
ing in  a  storm.  And  the  result  is  that  he  does  what  he 
must — tears  himself  utterly  away  from  the  incontinent 
folly  of  human  voices,  and  the  sorry  conceit  of  human 
faces,  and  plunges  into  the  deep  silence  and  solitude  of 
the  wilderness ;  there  to  settle  his  great  inward  commo« 
tions  and  compose  himself  to  his  call.  He  is  "driven 
of  the  Spirit,"  only  in  the  sense  that  the  crisis  brought 


TEMPTATION   OF   JESUS.  97 

apon  him  by  his  call  and  felt  endowment  drives  him. 
And  he  goes  'Ho  be  tempted  of  the  devil,"  only  in  tlie 
sense  that,  being  so  mightily  heaved  by  his  inward 
commotion,  he  both  is  and  will  be  tempted  thus,  till  lie 
finds  his  point  of  rest,  and  settles  into  his  plan  of 
sacrifice. 

As  to  the  fast  itself,  it  is  not  likely  that  he  had  any 
thought  of  fasting,  when  he  betook  himself  to  the  le- 
tirement  of  the  wilderness ;  he  only  found,  when  there, 
that  a  fast  was  upon  him,  and  since  it  might  help 
him  to  subdue  his  partly  intractable  humanity  more 
completely  to  his  uses,  he  took  it  for  his  opportunity, 
refusing  to  come  out  into  the  sight  of  the  world's  works 
and  faces,  to  obtain  his  customary  food.  The  great 
inward  tumult  he  was  in  held  him  thus  to  his  fasting 
for  a  whole  forty  days,  and  so  deep  was  the  stress  of  his 
feeling,  that  he  does  not  appear  to  have  been  particu- 
larly conscious  of  hunger,  till  the  very  last  of  it ;  when 
as  we  are  told  "he  began  to  be  an  hungered" — all 
which,  as  many  are  forward  to  say,  is  a  myth,  or,  if 
not,  a  perfectly  incredible  story  ;  no  mortal  organization 
being  able  to  subsist  for  so  long  a  time  without  food. 
And  yet  we  hear  every  few  months,  of  cases  well 
attested  that  correspond.  There  appears  in  fact,  to  be 
a  possible  state  of  mental  and  nervous  tension,  that 
allows  the  subject  to  maintain  life  without  food,  for  a 
much  longer  time  than  he  could  in  the  quiet  equili- 
brium of  a  more  natural  state. 

But  what  is  Christ  doing  in   this  long  solitude  and 
9 


98  THE    FASTING    AND 

silence  of  the  wilderness?  To  say  that  he  is  fasting 
does  not  satisfy  our  inquiry.  The  fast,  we  can  see,  ia 
total ;  not  a  fasting  from  food  only,  but  from  the  com^ 
forts  of  human  habitations,  trom  conversation,  from 
society,  and  even  from  public  worship  in  the  synagogrie, 
where  *'his  custom"  was,  even  from  his  childhocd,  to 
be  always  present.  Isolated  thus  from  the  great  world, 
and  closeted  with  God  in  that  grim  wilderness,  there  is 
of  course,  no  one  to  report  him  and  he  has  not  chosen 
to  report  himself;  save  that,  in  the  very  closing  scene 
of  his  exhaustion,  which  is  often  called  "the  tempta- 
tion," he  allows  the  veil  to  be  lifted. 

Who  has  not  wished  many  times,  that  he  could  have 
the  record  of  these  forty  days  ?  And  yet  they  may  be 
worth  even  the  more  to  us,  that  the  record  is  not 
given — left  with  a  veil  hung  over  it,  left  to  the  imag- 
ination ;  by  that  only,  as  the  purveyor  to  faith  and 
sympathy,  to  be  explored  and  pictured  as  it  may  be  in 
its  scenes,  for  there  is  nothing  so  fructifying  as  the  sup- 
plying fondly  of  what  is  not  given  us  in  our  Master's 
history,  but  is  left,  in  this  manner,  to  our  creative  lib- 
erty. In  this  view,  certain  blank  spaces  were  even 
necessary,  it  may  be  to  our  complete  benefit  in  the 
record  of  his  life.  Had  he  kept  a  complete  diary  for 
us  of  the  forty  days  experience,  it  might  have  been  a 
far  less  fruitful  chapter,  than  the  almost  total  blank  he 
has  left  us  to  range  in,  loosing  our  love  in  tender  explo- 
rations and  reconnoisances,  and  constructing  a  liistorj 
for  our  faith,  out  of  the  scantiest  helps  given  to  our 
understanding. 


TEMPTATION   or   JESUS.  99 

Among  tLe  few  tilings  given,  or  whieh  we  <5Mfficicntly 
know,  are  such  as  these;  that  he  is  not  bewailing  his 
sins;  that  he  is  not  afflicting  himself  purposely  ii 
penances  of  hunger  and  starvation ;  that  he  is  not 
wrestling  with  the  question  whether  he  will  undertake 
the  work  to  which  he  is  called.  The  first  he  can  not  be 
doing,  because  he  has  no  sins  to  bewail ;  nor  the  second, 
because  he  is  no  believer  in  the  doctrine  of  penance : 
nor  the  third,  because  his  choices  are  concluded  alwaj^s, 
by  the  simple  fact  that  any  thing  right  or  good  is  given 
him  to  do.  If  by  reason  of  his  human  weakness  he 
suffers,  for  a  time,  great  revulsions  of  body  and  mind, 
that  do  not  pertain  to  his  voluntary  nature,  that  is 
quite  another  matter.  We  shall  find  reason  to  think  it 
may  be  true. 

But  these  are  negations  only,  and  I  think  we  shall 
be  able  to  fix  on  several  very  important  points,  where 
we  know  sufficient  in  the  positive,  to  justify  a  large  de- 
duction, concerning  the  probable  nature  of  the  struggle 
through  which  Jesus  is  here  passing. 

1.  He  has  a  nature,  that,  in  part,  is  humanly  derived, 
so  far  an  infected,  broken  nature.  He  has  never  sinned, 
he  has  lived  in  purity,  under  this  humanly  impure  in- 
vestment ;  growing  more  and  more  distinctly  conscious 
of  those  higher  affinities  by  which  he  thus  dominates 
over  the  human,  unable  to  be  soiled  by  its  contact. 
But  now  it  is  opened  to  him  in  his  call,  that  he  is  hero 
not  as  here  belonging,  that  he  is  sent,  let  down  into  the 
world  incarnated  into  human  evil,  into  the  curse. 
There  must  have  been  some  time  at  whi.^h  the  sense  of 


IOC  THE    FASTIXG     AND 

tliis  fact  became  fullj  developed  in  Mm ;  doubtless  it 
was  partly  developed  before,  but  it  could  not  be  com- 
pletely till  now,  because  his  Messiahship,  or  mission 
of  salvation  to  sinners,  requiring  him  to  be  incarnated 
into  tlie  very  fall  and  broken  state  of  sin,  was  not 
before  opened  to  him.  Now  it  is  opened,  and  the 
whole  relation  he  is  in  flashes  upon  him.  Before  he 
had  the  contact  of  evil  in  a  simply  quiet  mastery,  now 
he  has  it  in  the  grim  discovery,  that  he  is  membered  into 
it!  Feeling  himself  incorporated  thus  into  the  corpo- 
rate evil  of  the  world,  to  bear  its  woe  and  shame,  and 
hate  and  wrong,  as  being  of  the  common  humanity,  he 
shudders  in  horrid  recoil  and  revulsion — takes  himself 
away  into  the  desert,  there  to  wrestle  with  his  feeling, 
till  he  gets  ready  to  bear  the  sin  of  the  world  with  a 
mind  leveled  to  the  burden  of  its  ignominy.  For  a 
time,  he  is  just  as  much  more  disturbed  and  revolted, 
probably,  as  he  is  more  consciously  divine.  In  those 
forty  days  of  trial,  instinctively  withdrawn  from  men, 
how  often,  looking  out  upon  them,  did  his  divine  chas- 
tity recoil  from  the  fearful  and  even  shocking  relation- 
ship into  which  he  was  come.  This  in  great  part  is  the 
cross — not  the  wood,  nor  the  nails,  nor  the  vinegar,  but 
the  men,  and  the  breath  of  hell  their  malignity  is 
])reathing  upon  him. 

2.  It  is  not  to  be  doubted  that  he  had  internal  strug- 
gles of  a  different  nature,  growing  out  of  his  hereditary 
t?.onnection  with  our  humanly  disordered  and  retribu- 
lively  broken  state.  I  refer,  more  especially,  to  what 
must  have  come  upon  him  under  the  law  of  bad  sug^ 


TEMPTATION   OF   JESUS.  101 

gestion.  How  it  was  with  liini  in  the  clos-'ng  scene, 
after  he  began  to  be  an  hungered — the  bad  thouglits 
that  came  to  him,  as  by  satanic  suggestion — we  are 
expressly  told.  And  it  is  not  to  be  doubted  that  his 
very  call  and  spiritual  endowment,  raising,  as  they  did, 
the  sense  of  his  kingly  dignity  and  power,  would  also 
call  out  from  his  infected  humanity,  whole  troops  of 
bad  thoughts  or  treacherous  suggestions,  even  as  tlie 
history  declares.  Raised  in  order  and  power,  it  is  only 
human  to  be  tempted  by  suggestions  of  the  figure  he 
can  make,  and  the  prodigious  things  he  ma}-  do.  It  is 
not  probably  true  that  Jesus  was  contending,  for  the 
whole  forty  daj^s,  with  such  kind  of  temptations  as 
came  upon  him  at  the  close.  But  as  certainly  as  his 
mind  had  a  man-wise  way  of  thinking,  he  must  have 
had  many  thoughts  coming  upon  him  that  required  him 
to  repeat  his  "get  thee  behind  me,"  and  turn  his  great 
nature  home  upon  God  and  his  work  closely  enough  to 
pre-occupy  it,  and  take  away  the  annoyance.  Keither 
let  us  shrink  from  such  a  mode  of  conceiving  him,  as 
if  it  were  a  derogation  from  his  perfect  character. 
Mental  suggestion  is  not  voluntary,  but  takes  place 
under  mental  laws,  going  where  it  will,  and  running 
more  or  less  wildly,  where  there  is  any  contact  of  the 
nature  with  disorder.  No  crime  is  incurred  by  evil 
suggestion,  when  there  is  no  encouragement  of  it,  or 
yielding  of  the  soul  to  it.  As  then  Jesus  was  to  be 
tempted  in  all  points  like  as  we  are  only  without  sin, 
it  is  even  a  fact  included,  that,  when  his  tremendous  call 
took  him,  an  immense  irruption  of  evil  suggestions, 

9* 


102  THE     FASTING    AND 

bursting  up  from  his  lo^v-bo^ll  Inimanity,  must  have 
taken  hiiri  ai»o.  And  this,  I  conceive,  is  what  is  meant, 
when  he  is  declared  to  have  been  driven  of  the  Spirit 
into  the  wilderness  to  be  tempted  of  the  devil.  Tlic 
very  call  of  the  Spirit  brought  this  contest  upon  him. 
I  do  not  exclude  the  possibilit}^  of  some  access  of  bad 
spirits  concurrently  working  with  the  bad  thoughts; 
for  he  was  tempted  just  as  men  are,  and  as  being  a  man. 
And  he  gained  his  victory,  doubtless  by  a  struggle  often 
renewed  and  variously  protracted. 

3.  It  is  not  to  be  doubted  that  his  human  weakness 
made  a  fearful  recoil  from  the  lot  of  suffering,  and  the 
horrible  death  now  before  him.  Human  nature  is 
keenly  sensitive  to  suffering;  but  we  manage  often  to 
bear  a  great  deal  of  it,  because  we  do  not  know  of  it 
beforehand,  but  have  it  coming  upon  us  by  surprises, 
or  turns  of  Providence  not  expected.  Hence  there  is 
nothing  so  common  as  the  remark,  from  one  or  another, 
that  he  could  not  have  borne  such  trials  as  have  come 
successively  upon  him,  if  he  had  been  advised  of  them, 
and  had  them  in  full  view  beforehand. 

But  the  call  of  Christ,  as  it  now  opened,  was  a  call 
to  suffering ;  a  call  to  be  fulfilled  by  sorrow  and  pain, 
and  consummated  by  the  ignominy  of  a  cross.  The 
great  Messiahship,  in  which  he  was  inaugurated,  was  to 
be  a  power  of  salvation  for  the  world,  as  being  a  sub- 
lime tragedy  of  goodness.  In  this  respect,  his  career 
of  suffering  was  different,  widely,  from  that  of  any 
mortal  of  the  race,  in  the  fact  that  he  came  into  it  with 
a  full  knowledge  flashed  upon  him,  of  all  that  he  was 


TEMPTATION   OF   JESUS.  103 

to  bear  from  the  sin  lie  was  to  conquer.  As  we  "hear 
him  speak  in  one  of  his  earliest  discourses  of  being 
"  lifted  up,"  recurring  more  than  once  to  the  same  thing 
afterward,  and  using  the  same  expression,  calling  his 
disciples  also,  many  times  over,  to  "take  up  the  cross" 
and  follow  him,  we  can  see  for  ourselves  how  the  sor- 
row, and  buffeting,  and  shame,  and  cross,  all  met  him 
and  stood  in  their  appalling  certainty  always  before 
him,  from  the  first  hour  of  his  call  onward.  The  recoil 
of  his  human  nature  from  such  a  prospect  must  have 
been  dreadful — mortally  regarded,  insupportable. 

Let  us  not  be  misled,  at  this  point,  by  the  fact  that 
he  is  a  superior  nature  incarnate,  imagining  that  he 
must  also  be  superior,  in  that  manner,  to  suffering. 
He  has  taken  the  human  nature,  and  taken  it  as  it  is, 
by  inheritance,  and  though  it  is  good  for  symbol,  as 
being  the  express  image  of  Grod — better  than  all  nature 
up  to  the  stars  beside — still  it  is  weak  for  the  matter  of 
suffering,  and  is,  in  fact,  only  the  more  perfect  for  his 
uses  on  that  account.  Good,  therefore,  as  symbol,  it 
has  to  be  conquered  as  organ,  to  be  made  staunch 
for  so  dreadful  a  service,  by  some  strong  mastery,  be  it 
that  of  a  fast,  or  of  any  other  kind  of  discipline. 
Otherwise,  being  all  weakness,  it  would  even  be  treason 
if  it  could.  Nothing  could  be  farther  off  from  the 
heroic  in  sacrifice,  more  susceptible  to  fear,  more  instinc- 
tively averse  to  the  hatred  of  men,  more  unwilling  to 
die,  and  die  hard,  and  die  low.  And  what  shall  he 
do  more  naturally,  in  the  confused  struggles  of  his  feel- 
ing, than  withdraw  till  the  terrible  revulsion  is  quelled; 


104  THE    FASTING  AND 

or,  what  is  the  same,  till  he  gets  the  poor,  unsteady^ 
low-bred  organ  of  his  life  brought  up,  into  the  scale  ol 
his  sacrifice  ? 

4.  There  comes  upon  him  also,  at  the  point  of  h*H 
call  or  endowment,  still  another  and  vaster  kind  of 
commotion,  that  belongs  even  to  his  divine  nature, 
holding  fit  proportion  with  the  greatness  and  perfection 
of  it.  The  love  he  had  before  to  mankind  was  prob- 
ably more  like  that  of  a  simply  perfect  man.  Having 
now  the  fallen  world  itself  put  upon  his  love,  and  the 
endowment  of  a  Saviour  entered  consciously  into  his 
heart,  his  whole  divinity  is  heaved  into  such  commo- 
tion as  is  fitly  called  an  agony ;  answering,  in  all  re- 
spects, to  the  agony  of  the  garden.  How  differently 
do  we  feel  for  any  subject  of  benevolence  the  mo- 
ment we  have  undertaken  for  him.  He  lies  upon  our 
heart-strings  night  and  day,  as  a  burden.  We  watch 
for  him  with  a  painful  concern,  we  agonize  for  him. 
So  when  Jesus  takes  the  world  upon  his  love,  it  plunges 
him  at  once,  into  what  may  be  called  the  suffering  state 
of  God ;  for  it  belongs  to  the  goodness  of  God,  just 
because  it  is  good,  to  suffer,  as  being  burdened  in  feel- 
ing for  all  wrong-doers  and  enemies.  Every  sort  of 
love,  the  maternal,  the  patriotic,  the  christian,  has  for 
its  inseparable  incident,  a  moral  suffering  in  behalf  of 
its  subjects.  God  has  the  same,  in  a  degree  of  intensity 
equal  to  the  intensity  and  compass  of  his  love.  And  it 
is  this  moral  suffering  that  now  comes  upon  Christ,  and 
is  to  be  revealed  by  his  incarnate  ministry.  The  stress 
upon  his  feeling  is  too  heavy  to  be  supported  by  the  frail 


TEMPTATION   OF  JESUS.  105 

and  tender  vehicle  of  his  humanity.  It  rolls  in  like 
a  sea,  and  his  human  nature  can  not  breast  the  teavy 
surge  of  it.  He  goes  apart  in  the  terrible  recoil,  both 
of  his  divine  feeling  and  his  human  nature,  sinks  away 
into  the  recesses  of  the  wilderness,  crushed  by  the 
burden  that  has  come  upon  his  agonizing  heart.  As 
was  just  now  intimated,  his  experience  corresponds  with 
that  of  his  agony ;  for  it  was  the  same  burden  return- 
ing upon  him,  at  that  crisis,  that  threw  him  on  the 
ground,  and  wrenched  his  feeling,  in  such  throes  of 
concern  for  his  enemies,  that  his  too  feeble  body  gave 
way,  and  the  gates  of  the  skin  flew  open  before  the 
terrible  pressure  on  his  heart.  I  do  not  say  that  any 
such  scene  is  transacted  here  in  these  forty  days.  I  only 
know  that  Christ  has  the  same  weak  body,  and  the 
same  great  feeling,  burdened  now  for  men,  and,  what  is 
much  to  be  considered,  it  has  come  upon  him  just  as 
suddenly  as  the  investiture  and  ofl&cial  endowment  of 
his  call.  I  do  not  see  his  prostrations.  I  do  not  catch 
the  wail  of  his  prayer,  "let  this  cup  pass  from  me,"  I 
only  see  that  a  great  and  dreadful  commotion  must  be 
upon  him — leaving  him  to  cope  with  it  as  he  best  may, 
in  that  mysterious  silence  and  solitude  into  which  he 
has  retreated  from  our  human  inspection. 

Once  more,  the  mind  of  Jesus,  in  his  forty  days 
retirement  and  fasting,  must  have  been  profoundly 
engaged  and  powerfully  tasked  in  the  unfolding  of  the 
necessary  plan.  He  can  not  bolt  into  such  a  work, 
embracing  such  an  immense  reach  of  territory  and 
time  and  kingly  rule,  without  considering,  beforehand, 


106  THE    FASTING   AND 

and  distinctly  conceiving  the  what,  and  how,  and  when, 
and  why,  of  his  work.  Doubtless  there  is  a  divine  plan 
ready  for  him,  and  has  been  even  from  before  the  world's 
creation,  but  he,  as  being  man,  must  think  it  consecu- 
tively out,  step  by  step,  in  a  certain  human  way  of 
reception,  or  development,  else  he  is  not  in  it.  No 
matter  if  the  plan  lay  perfect  in  him  as  the  Ancient 
of  Days  before  he  came  into  the  world,  still  the  counsel 
of  it  lay,  not  in  words,  or  specific  judgments,  but  in 
the  infinite  abyss  of  his  boundless  intuition.  Now,  in 
consenting  to  be  man,  he  consents  to  be  unfolded  grad- 
ually in  body  and  mind,  to  grow  as  he  feeds,  and  know 
as  he  thinks.  Nor  does  it  make  any  difference  if  his 
thinking  draws  on  the  infinite;  for  to  think  the  infinite 
into  the  finite,  deific  light  into  form  and  particularity, 
is  a  very  considerable  work  that  will  not  soon  be  done. 
His  plan,  therefore,  must  be  thought,  in  order  to  be 
humanly  had.  Yesterday  he  had  it  not,  to-day  the 
call  has  come  that  requires  it,  and  a  great  soul-labor 
begins.  Doubtless  he  has  thought  much,  coasting  round 
the  subject  before;  he  has  read  the  Messianic  prophets, 
and  had  their  visions  opened  to  his  understanding, 
probably,  as  no  other  ever  had  before ;  his  every  fac- 
ulty is  clear,  and  broad,  and  deep,  and  rapid,  in  a  de- 
gree surpassing  all  genius.  Still,  making  all  such 
allowance,  how  far  off  is  he,  at  the  coming  of  his  call, 
from  having  any  complete  fact-form  plan  ready  for  it. 
The  matter  of  it  includes  even  the  reasons  of  the  creation, 
also  the  last  ends  of  the  creation,  what  between  baa 
been  already  done  and  what  remains  to  be,  in  the  great 


TEMPTATION    OF   JFSUS.  107 

new  future,  all  that  affects  God's  relations  to  men,  and 
men's  to  God,  and  the  eternal  kingdom  as  connecting 
both.  In  this  great  salvation-problem,  therefore,  touch- 
ing always  the  infinite  and  finite  together,  what  he  shall 
do  and  teach ;  what,  and  when,  and  how,  he  shall  suffer; 
b}'  whom  he  shall  organize,  and  for  a  time  how  long — 
in  this  problem,  to  be  wrought  out  in  a  train  of  finite 
human  thinking,  his  forty  days  will  have  enough  to  do 
pour  in  fast  and  free  as  the  stupendous  revelation  wilL 
Full  of  all  heaviest  commotion  therefore,  on  the  side  of 
his  feeling,  the  great  deep  of  intelligence  also  in  Jesus 
must  be  mightily  heaved,  that  his  counsel  may  be  ade- 
quately settled.  0  thou  grim  solitude  of  wilderness, 
what  work   is   going   on,   these   days,  in  thy  silence! 

How  great  and  rapid  the  movement  of  his  counsel  has 
been,  we  may  see,  .when  coming  out,  after  the  forty 
days,  into  his  ministry,  he  opens  his  mouth  in  his  beati- 
tudes and  goes  on  with  his  wonderful  first  sermon, 
speaking,  how  decisively  and  calmly  and  with  what 
evident  repose ;  then  beginning  straightway  his  mira- 
cles, calling  his  apostles,  and  organizing  his  cause ;  evi- 
dently master  of  his  plan  even  as  a  practiced  general  of 
his  campaign — ready  in  all  ripe  counsel,  to  spread  him- 
self out  on  the  great  world-future  of  his  kingdom. 

Beginning  thus  at  the  call  of  Jesus,  and  making  this 
large  induction  from  what  we  know  concerning  him,  I 
thinlc  you  will  agree,  my  friends,  that  these  forty  days 
of  his  in  the  wilderness  must  have  been  the  most  events 
ful  days  of  his  Messiahship,  including  beyond  question^ 
a  vast,  unknown,   scarcely  imaginable,  but    necessary 


108  THE    FASTING    AND 

and  sublime  preparation  for  liis  work.  Ko  other  cLap 
ter,  I  may  safely  say,  in  tlie  whole  history  of  Jesus,  has 
a  more  ftiscinating  and  mysterious  interest  to  our  feel- 
ing, covered  though  it  be  in  dimness  and  silence. 

I  have  alluded  once  or  twice  to  the  agony  of  Jesus. 
I  might  also  refer  you  to  hours  when  the  same  deep 
conflict  more  than  once,  rolls  back  on  him  for  a  space, 
and  his  mighty  "soul  is  troubled,"  venting  itself  in  words. 
I  can  not  resist  the  impression  that  the  real  agony  of 
Jesus  took  him  at  the  Yery  first.  How  he  bore  himself 
in  it  for  so  many  daj^s  in  those  desert  wilds,  his  atti- 
tudes, his  sleep  or  want  of  sleep,  his  prostrations  and 
prayers,  his  groanings  in  spirit,  his  spaces  of  brightness 
and  victorious  courage  and  peace,  his  deep  ponderings  by 
day  or  night,  sitting  under  the  grim  rocks — -none  of 
these  are  given  us,  but  our  heart  will  indulge  itself  in 
them  and  rightly  may. 

Some  few  incidents  are  given  us  which,  taken  to- 
gether, signify  much.  Thus,  he  is  not  hungry,  he  is  too 
powerfully  wrought  in  by  his  thoughts  and  emotions  to 
have  the  sense  of  hunger. 

He  is  also  alone.  In  the  agony  of  the  garden  he  has 
his  friends  with  him,  and  looks  to  their  sympathy  for 
support.  Here  he  has  no  friend  with  him,  because  he 
has  not  yet  any  friend  enlisted,  who  can  at  all  under- 
stand hmi,  or  yield  him  even  a  word  of  comfort. 

I  said  he  was  alone — no  he  is  not  alone,  but  as  Mark 
very  casually  intimates,  "he  is  with  the  wild  beasts." 
And  this  word  with  indicates  a  strange  concomitancy, 
by  which  they  are  somehow  drawn  to  come  about  him 


TEMPTATION    OF   JESUS.  109 

and  be  witli  him,  in  a  way  of  harmless  atteiition.  Fot 
the  term  '■'' ivilcl  beasts''^  does  not  mean  simply  wild  ani- 
mals, but  the  savage  beasts  of  prey,  such  as  lions,  ]ian- 
thers,  wolves,  and  the  like.  These  are  with  Jesus, 
coming  about  him  in  his  prostrations,  drawing  near  in 
the  meanings  of  his  sleep,  fawning  about  him  tenderly 
when  he  sits  in  silence ;  going  back,  as  it  were,  to  the 
habit  of  paradise,  and  symbolizing,  by  their  harmless 
companionship,  that  future  paradise  which  he  is  to  restore. 
Glad  sign  most  surely,  they,  to   his  struggling  heart. 

Still  another  and  very  different  class  of  beings  come 
to  him — I  mean  the  angels.  These  we  are  told  minis- 
tered unto  him.  Great  joy  was  that  to  the  angels !  and 
it  must  have  been  as  great  to  him  !  In  such  a  state  of 
long,  long  conflict  and  trial,  how  blessed  were  these  vis- 
itors from  the  great  world  of  peace  above,  their  com- 
munications how  sweet,  how  rich  in  assurance !  So  be- 
tween the  beasts  and  the  angels,  men  being  wholly 
away,  Jesus  gets  tokens  of  sympathy  that  minister  com- 
fort, and  help  him  to  compose  himself  to  the  opening 
tragedy  of  his  life. 

We  come,  at  last,  to  the  final  crisis  of  the  trial,  which 
many,  by  what  appears  to  me  a  very  great  mistake, 
call  the  temptation;  as  if  it  covered  the  whole  ground 
of  the  forty  days.  Exactly  contrary  to  this  the  history 
says  expressly — "And  when  he  had  fasted  forty  days 
and  forty  nights  he  was  afterward  an  hungered."  Or 
according  to  another  gospel, — "  when  they  were  ended, 
he  began  to  be  an  hungered."  The  three  temptations 
follow.      So    powerfully   had    his    mighty   soul    been 

10 


110  THE    FASTING    AND 

wrought  in,  that  he  had  not,  till  this  time,  been  conscioua 
of  hunger.  But  now,  at  last,  he  is  spent,  and  nature 
breaks  under  exhaustion.  The  representation  appears 
to  be  that  the  fevered,  half  delirious  state  of  hunger  is 
upon  him ;  and  the  phantoms  of  Ij'ing  suggestion  rush 
into  liis  weakened  brain,  to  bear  down,  if  possible,  his 
integrity.  But  it  is  not  possible;  even  his  broken, 
reeling  faculty  is  too  strong  in  its  purity  for  the  utmost 
art  of  his  enemy.  And  his  triumph  is  thus  finally  com- 
pleted, in  the  fact  that  any  shred  of  his  sinless  majesty 
is  seen  to  be  enough  to  hold  him  fast,  when  the  shat- 
tered vehicle  of  his  humanity  has  quite  given  way. 

That  this,  or  something  like  it,  is  the  true  account  to 
be  taken  of  the  story,  is  hardly  to  be  questioned.  It 
must  have  been  derived  from  his  own  report ;  for  no 
one  else  was  privy  to  the  matter  of  it.  And  he  simply 
meant,  I  have  no  doubt,  in  the  three  temptations  recited, 
to  report  what  appeared  to  him,  visionally  speaking ; 
or  how  they  stood  before  his  fevered  brain.  To  believe 
that  he  was  actually  taken  up  by  the  devil,  and  set  on 
the  pinnacle  of  the  temple,  when  fifty  miles  awaj^;  or 
that  he  w^as  taken  up  into  a  mountain  so  exceedingly 
high,  that  he  could  see  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  round 
world  from  the  top,  is  fairly  impossible.  He  onl}^  re- 
ported the  seemings  of  his  hunger-fevered  state.  All 
temptations  are  but  seemings.  The  devils  bait  their 
hook,  never  with  truths,  always  with  illusions.  Nor 
were  the  temptations  any  the  less  real,  or  satanic,  as  being 
phantoms  of  exhaustion.  This,  in  fact,  was  to  be  his  vic- 
tory, that  not  even  his  unsettled,  weakened  faculty  could 


TEMPTATION    OF   JESUS.  Ill 

be  seduced  bj  such  phantoms,  whether  of  internal  or  ex- 
ternal suggestion.  In  this  victory  the  trial  of  Jesus  was 
finished — "  And  when  the  devil  had  ended  all  the  tempt- 
ations, he  departed  from  him  for  a  season."  Now 
therefore  he  is  ready,  and  the  great  Messianic  ministry 
begins. 

Scarcely  necessary  is  it,  my  brethren,  to  say  that  it  will 
be  such  a  ministry  as  the  great  first  chapter  of  the  fast 
prepares — such  and  no  other.  I  know  not  any  point 
beside,  in  the  history  of  his  life,  where  you  may  take 
your  stand  and  see  the  whole  course  of  it  open,  with  such 
intelligible  unity  and  clearness.  As  the  dawn  prepares 
the  day,  so  the  forty  days  prepare  the  three  wonderful 
years.  Taking  the  fast  for  your  initial  point,  and  care- 
fully distinguishing  what  goes  on  there,  and  is  done  or 
made  ready,  every  thing  appears  to  come  out  naturally, 
in  a  sense,  from  it.  Here,  in  fact,  as  you  may  figure, 
Christ,  officially  j^oung,  levels  himself  to  his  aim ;  and 
then,  as  age  is  not  the  count  of  years  but  of  works,  puts 
himself  into  his  great  ministry  with  such  momentum 
and  constancy,  giving  so  much  counsel,  expending  so 
much  sympathy,  suffering  so  great  waste  of  sorrow,  that 
he  dies,  at  the  end  of  three  years,  like  one  ripened  by 
full  age.  The  unsteadiness,  the  overdoing,  the  ro- 
mance, of  unpracticed  energies,  nowhere  appears,  but 
the  regular  gait  of  sagacity,  patience,  sound  equilibrium, 
as  of  one  who  has  his  counsel  ready,  brings  him  on  to 
his  close.  Whether  this  maturity  is  unfolded  by  the 
very  rapid  development  of  his  crowded,  heavy -pressing^ 


112  THE    FASTING   AND 

all-doing  ministry,  or  was  really  prepared,  for  the  most 
part,  in  the  fiery  forty  days  of  his  trial,  it  may  be  diffi- 
cult to  say.  Only  this  is  abundantly  clear,  that  he 
came  out  of  that  trial,  to  make  his  beginning,  both 
strong  and  ready.  If  he  did  not  seem  to  be  as  old 
when  he  gave  the  sermon  on  the  mount  as  when  he 
answered  before  Pilate,  he  was  as  thoroughlj^  assured, 
and  as  completely  master  of  the  situation.  From  that 
time  onward  his  equipoise  is  perfect,  and  his  movement 
restful  and.  smooth — never  hurrying  after  counsel  not 
yet  arrived,  but  visibly  set  on  by  counsel,  such  as  leaves 
no  room  for  surprise,  or  a  moment's  faltering.  The 
sweetness,  and  repose,  and  readiness  he  is  in,  are  such 
as  indicate  a  mental  graduation  into  counsel,  and  vic- 
tory already  accomplished — as  he  had,  in  fact,  con- 
quered, beforehand,  the  world,  and  the  devil,  and  hia 
own  humanity,  and  had  come  to  such  kind  of  settle- 
ment as  a  victor  only  gets.  Many  martyrs  have  borne 
themselves  heroically  when  the  doom  was  on  them,  and 
the  pressure  of  the  hour  riveted  their  firmness.  But 
Christ  was  a  martyr  at  large  and  beforehand,  who  had 
taken  the  sentence  of  death  in  the  wilderness,  and 
bowed  himself  in  consecration  upon  it,  coming  out  to 
live  martyr-wise;  but  as  strong,  as  steady,  as  free,  as 
the  felt  mastery  both  of  death  and  of  himself  could 
make  him.  Figuring  himself  to  himself,  deliberately, 
as  a  grain  of  wheat  falling  into  the  ground  to  die,  and 
BO  to  live  again  more  fruitfully,  he  settles  calmly  into 
his  appointment,  without  misgiving  or  regret.  Having 
aLso  a  great  baptism,  as  he  knows,  to  be  baptized  with, 


TEMPTATION"   OF   JESUS.  113 

he  is  nowise  appalled  by  the  prospect,  but  only  op- 
pressed by  tlie  delay ;  exclaiming,  "  liow  am  I  strait- 
ened till  it  be  accomplished."  In  all  which,  we  may  see, 
that  the  highest  nerve  of  courage,  endurance,  and  reso- 
lute equability,  may  be  set,  only  in  the  silence  and  soli- 
tude of  a  complete  self-devotion,  never  in  the  noisy 
tumult  of  commotions  and  great  throes  of  public  excite- 
ment. What  other  being  among  men  ever  graduated 
into  such  glory  of  public  life  as  Jesus,  when  he  came 
out  of  the  desert  and  his  forty  days  of  silence ! 

I  do  not  mean,  of  course,  in  hanging  so  much  upon 
the  temptation  of  the  forty  days,  to  say  that  Jesus  was 
never  tempted  before,  or  after  that  time.  All  such  tempt- 
ations were  casual,  matters  by  the  way,  having  a  certain 
consequence,  but  no  principal  consequence  in  fixing  the 
tenor  of  his  life.  But  the  forty  days  temptation  had 
this  distinction,  that  it  took  him  at  the  point  of  crisis, 
so  that  every  thing  was  turned  by  the  settlement,  and 
went  with  it.  There  could  be  only  one  such  crisis,  and 
the  turning  of  it  rightly  was  the  grand  inaugural  of  all 
that  came  after,  in  his  wonderful  and  gloriously  conse- 
crated ministry. 

In  just  the  same  manner,  there  is,  I  conceive,  in  the 
life  of  almost  every  Christian  disciple,  a  crisis,  where 
every  thing  most  eventful,  as  regards  the  Christian  value 
of  his  life  to  himself,  and  of  his  consecration  to  God,  es- 
pecially hinges,  and  where,  as  we  may  figure,  his  grand 
temptation  meets  him.  Other  temptations  have  gone 
before,  others  will  come  after,  here  is  the  temptation  of 
his  personal  call  and  opportunity.  What  it  will  be,  or 
10" 


114  THE    FASTING   AND 

in  what  form  it  will  come,  can  not  of  course,  be  speci- 
fied ;  enough  that  it  will  commonly  bring  the  strong 
present  conviction  with  it  of  a  great  Christian  crisis  ar- 
rived, on  which  all  the  heaviest  results  of  character  and 
service  done  for  God  are  depending.  At  such  a  time, 
there  is  to  be  no  haste  or  precipitation.  The  time  for  a 
grand,  ])ractical  settlement  of  the  life  has  come,  and  if 
the  man  has  any  gravity  of  meaning  or  high  aspiration, 
he  will  meet  the  crisis  practically,  and  if  possible,  un- 
derstandingly.  To  let  go  society,  pleasure,  profit,  and 
the  table,  nay,  to  get  away  from  them,  will  be  a  kind 
of  relief.  Any  thing,  any  campaign  of  prayer,  and 
thought,  and  self-devotement,  will  be  accepted  heartily, 
and  be  long  enough  protracted  to  settle  the  result  finally 
and  firmly.  One  great  reason,  brethren,  why  we  make  so 
poor  a  figure  of  fitfulness  and  inconstancy,  is  that  we 
go  by  jets  of  emotion,  or  gusts  of  popular  impulse,  or 
sallies  of  extempore  resolve ;  we  do  not  settle  our  ques- 
tion upon  a  footing  of  counsel,  and  inward  consecra- 
tion, and,  in  fact,  do  not  take  time  to  settle  any  thing; 
least  of  all,  any  such  great  crisis  of  life.  Moses  drew 
off  into  the  wilderness  and  was  there  forty  years,  get- 
ting  ready  for  the  call  that  was  already  half  uttered  in 
his  heart.  Paul  retired  into  Arabia,  and  was  there 
three  years,  gathering  up  his  soul  and  soul's  fuel,  for 
the  grand  apostleship  of  word  and  sacrifice.  So  the 
Christian,  every  Christian,  who  has  come  to  his  crisis, 
will  take  time  for  the  settlement  of  his  plan,  and  the 
equipment  of  his  undertaking — if  not  forty  days,  then 
as  many  as  are  wanted. 


TEMPTATION   OF   JESUS.  115 

Having  inis  high  work  uptrn  you,  brethren,  silence  and 
solitude  will  be  congenial,  and  the  fasting  of  Jesus  wip 
be  remembered  by  you  with  a  strange  sympathy- 
all  in  the  endeavor  to  come  out  on  your  future, 
thoroughly  consecrated  to  it,  even  as  he  was  to  his. 
Drawn  to  him  in  such  profoundest  sympathy  with  hia 
temptation,  0  how  tenderly  and  approvingly  will  he 
be  drawn  to  you,  pouring,  as  he  best  may,  all  the  riches 
of  his  forty  days  struggle  and  consecration  to  sacrifice 
upon  you.  "  For  in  that  he  himself  hath  suffered  being 
tempted,  he  is  able  to  succor  them  that  are  tempted." 
Any  life  is  great  and  blessed,  into  which  you  are  en- 
tered, upon  this  high  footing  with  Christ  your  Master. 
You  can  not  be  worse  handled  by  men,  or  by  what  is 
called  fortune,  than  he  .was;  can  not  be  more  faithful 
to  God's  high  purpose  in  you,  or  more  consciously  great, 
and  happy,  and  true ;  and  that,  if  I  am  right,  is  the 
only  kind  of  life  at  all  worthy  of  you.  And  then,  at 
the  end,  it  will  be  yours  to  say,  in  the  sublime  confi- 
dence also  of  your  Master — ''I  have  glorified  thee  on 
the  earth,  I  have  finished  the  work  which  thou  ga^^esl 
me  to  do." 


VI. 

CONVICTION   OF   SIN  BY   THE  CROSS. 


"O/*  sin^  because  they  believe  not  on  me.  Of  righteous- 
ness^  because  I  go  to  the  Father^  and  ye  see  me  no  more. 
Of  judgment^  because  the  prince  of  this  luorld  is  judged^ — 
John,  xvi.  9-11. 

In  the  CO nvin cement  of  sin,  the  Holy  Spirit  is  to  be 
the  agent,  and  Christ  rejected,  the  argument — so  Christ 
himself  conceives  the  promise  of  the  Spirit  which  he  is 
here  giving.  The  convincing  work  is  to  be  wrought  by 
no  absolute  method  of  force,  but  by  truths  and  reasons 
drawn  from  Christ's  person,  and  the  treatment  he  re- 
ceived from  the  world.  "  Of  sin,"  he  says,  "because 
they  believe  not  on  me."  The  two  other  points  that  he 
adds — "  Of  righteousness,  because  I  go  to  the  Father 
and  ye  see  me  no  more;  Of  judgment,  because  the 
prince  of  this  world  is  judged;" — appear  to  be  only 
amplifications  of  the  first,  or  points  in  which  the  guilty 
convictions  of  his  rejectors  will  be  raised  to  a  higher 
pitch.  Thus  when  he  is  gone  out  of  the  world  to  be 
seen  here  no  more,  gone  up  to  the  Father  in  visible 
divine  majesty,  they  will  begin  to  conceive  who  he 
was — the  Son  of  God,  the  righteousness  itself  of  God. 
He  will  be  no  more  the  man  or  the  prophet,  poorly 
apprehended,  doubtfully  conceived;  all  their  opinions 


CONVICTION    OF   SIN,    ETC.  117 

of  him  will  undergo  a  revision,  and  their  minds  be 
quickened  to  a  new  sense  even  of  what  righteousness 
is ;  so,  to  a  deeper,  more  condemning,  more  appalling 
sense  of  their  sin.  Then  again  this  conviction  will  be 
set  home  with  a  still  heavier  emphasis,  by  the  fact  made 
visible  in  his  death  and  resurrection,  that  the  "prince 
of  this  world  is  judged,"  and  forever  cast  down.  For 
if  evil,  when  triumphant  by  conspiracy,  still  can  not 
tiiumph,  but  falls  inevitably  doomed,  how  certainly 
doomed  is  every  soul  that  meets  the  Just  One  it  rejected, 
on  its  final  day.  When  the  bad  empire  called  the 
world,  is  itself  cloven  down,  visibl}^,  by  the  rising  and 
the  over-mastering  kingship  of  God's  Messiah,  the  con- 
viction of  sin  will  be  as  much  more  appalling,  as  the 
general  defeat  and  overthrow  requires  it  to  be. 

It  is  then  a  fixed  expectation  of  Christ  himself,  and 
that  is  the  truth  to  which  I  am  now  going  to  call  your 
attention — that  his  mission  to  the  world  will  have  a  consid- 
erahle  j^art  of  its  va.lue,  in  raising  a  higher  moral  sense  in 
mankind,  and  producing  a  more  appalling  conviction  of 
their  guilt  or  guiltiness,  before  God. 

A  widely  different,  or  even  contrary,  impression 
appears  to  be  generally  derived  from  certain  things 
said  in  the  scripture,  concerning  the  law ;  taken  as  they 
are,  in  a  less  qualified  manner  than  they  should  be,  or 
the  facts  of  the  gospel  require  them  to  be.  Thus  it  is 
declared  that,  "by  the  law  is  the  knowledge  of  sin." 
It  is  also  described  in  its  relation  to  the  gospel,  as  "  the 
letter  that  killeth,"   "  the  ministration  of  death,"  "the 


118  CONVICTION   OF   SIN 

ministration  of  condemnation;"  that, on  the  other  band, 
being  "the  Spirit  that  giveth  life,"  "the  ministration 
of  righteousness."  On  the  ground  of  such  repre«^ntii,. 
tions,  an  impression  is  received,  that  conviction  of  siu 
is  distinctively  "a  law  work."  As  such  it  is  specially 
magnified,  and  it  is  even  abundantly  insisted  on,  that 
the  eflPective  preaching  of  the  law  is  the  prime  condition 
of  all  genuine  success  in  preaching.  The  conception  ia 
that  what  is  called  "  the  law  "  is  a  certain  battery  side 
of  government,  before  which  guilty  minds  are  to  be 
shot  through  with  deadly  pangs,  and  then  that  the  min- 
istration of  life,  in  Jesus  and  his  cross,  coming  on  the 
gentle  side  opposite,  does  a  work  of  pure  healing  and 
life.  On  that  side,  all  is  condemnation.  On  this  side, 
all  is  forgiveness.  There  is  guilt,  here  is  peace.  Bond- 
age only  is  there,  liberty  only  is  here. 

Now  this  impression  is  so  far  true,  that  conviction 
of  sin  doubtless  supposes  the  fact  of  some  rule  or  law, 
broken  by  sin ;  and  that,  when  such  law  is  broken,  it 
can,  as  law,  do  nothing  more  than  condemn — can  not 
help,  or  save.  God  only  can  do  that,  and  that  he  does 
in  Christ. 

But,  in  a  certain  other  view,  there  is  more  law  iu 
Christ,  more,  that  is,  in  his  character  and  life  and  doc- 
trine, then  there  is  in  all  statutes  beside.  The  law  of 
Eden  is  to  the  law  of  the  sermon  on  the  mount,  as  u 
jewsharp  to  an  organ.  The  ten  commandments,  mostlj^ 
negative,  or  laws  of  not  doing,  are  not,  all  together,  as 
weighty  and  broad  upon  the  conscience,  as  Christ's  one 
positive  law,  "Do  ye  unto  others  as  ye  would   that 


BY   THE   CROSS.  119 

others  sliould  do  unto  you.'*  Not  even  the  thun- 
ders of  Sinai  are  any  match  for  the  silent  thunders  of 
Calvary. 

Besides,  it  is  not  so  much  the  question,  where  most 
law  is  given,  as  by  what  means  the  sense  of  law  may 
be  most  effectually  quickened,  where  before  it  slept 
And  here  it  is  that  Christ's  great  expectation  hinges, 
when  he  says,  "of  sin,"  "of  righteousness,"  "of  judg- 
ment." For  in  him,  the  law  is  more  than  a  rule,  or 
than  all  rules — a  person,  clothed  in  God's  righteousness, 
bearing  Grod's  authority,  filling  and  permeating  all 
human  relations  with  an  exact  well-doing,  and  with  all 
most  loving  ministries,  such  as  never  before  had  been 
even  conceived  in  these  relations.  How  much  then 
will  it  signify,  when  guilty  minds  are  so  painfully  dazed 
by  the  glories  of  right  in  his  person,  that  they  can  not 
endure  the  sight;  conspiring  even  his  death,  and  falling 
upon  him  in  their  implacable  malice,  to  thrust  him  out 
of  the  world!  Why,  simply  to  have  had  such  a  being 
living  in  the  world,  doing  his  work,  suffering  his  pains 
at  the  hands  of  his  enemies  and  breathing  out  his  pure 
untainted  breath  upon  the  poisoned  air,  changes  it  to  a 
place  of  holy  conviction,  where  sin  must  be  ever  know 
ing  itself,  and  scorching  itself  in  its  own  guilty  fires! 

Thus  much  it  was  necessary  to  say,  in  a  way  of 
general  statement,  or  adjustment,  as  respects  the  rela- 
tive agency  of  Christ  and  the  law  in  the  convincement 
of  guilty  minds.  That  Christianity  was  to  have,  and 
has  had,  a  considerable  part  of  its  value,  in  this  con- 
vincing, as  well  as  in  a  forgiving  and  restoring  agency, 


1'20  CONVICTION    OF     SIN 

I  will  now  proceed  to  show,  bj  arguments  more  special 
and  positive.     And — 

1.  Make  due  account  of  the  fact,  that  conviction  of 
sin  is  a  profoundly  intelligent  matter,  and  worthy,  in 
that  view,  to  engage  the  counsel  of  God  in  the  gift  of  his 
Son.  If  we  have  any  such  thought  as  that  what  is 
called  conviction  of  sin  is  only  a  blind  torment,  or  ciisis 
of  excited  fear,  technically  prescribed  as  a  matter  to  be 
suffered  in  the  way  of  conversion,  we  can  not  too  soon 
rid  ourselves  of  the  mistake.  It  is  neither  more  nor 
less  than  a  due  self-knowledge — not  a  knowledge  of  the 
mere  understanding,  or  such  as  may  be  gotten  by  phi 
losophic  reflection,  but  a  more  certain,  more  immediate 
sensing  of  ourselves  by  consciousness ;  just  the  same 
which  the  criminal  has,  when  he  hies  himself  away  from 
justice;  fleeing,  it  may  be,  when  no  man  pursueth.  He 
has  a  most  invincible,  most  real  knowledge  of  himself; 
not  by  any  cognitive  process  of  reflection,  but  by  his 
immediate  consciousness — he  is  consciously  a  guilty 
man.  All  men  are  consciously  guilty  before  God,  and 
the  standards  of  God,  in  the  same  manner.  They  do 
not  approve,  but  invariably  condemn  themselves ;  only 
they  become  so  used  to  the  fact  that  they  make  nothing 
of  it,  but  take  it  even  as  the  normal  condition  of  their 
life.  Their  sin  gets  to  be  themselves,  and  they  only 
think  as  thinking  of  themselves.  Living  always  in  the 
bad  element,  they  think  it  is  only  their  nature  to  be  as 
they  are.  Their  consciousness  is  frozen  over,  so  to 
speak,  and  they  see  no  river  underneath,  but  only  the  ice 


BY   THE   CROSS.  121 

that  covers  it.  The  motions  of  sins  they  do  not  ob- 
serve, because  the  standards  they  have  always  violated 
are  blunted  and  blurred  by  custom.  They  are  on]y 
conscious,  it  may  be,  of  a  certain  shyness  of  God,  and 
they  come  to  regard  even  that  as  being  somehow  nat- 
ural. Hence  it  comes  to  be  a  very  great  point,  in  the 
recovery  of  men  to  God,  to  unmask  them  to  themselves, 
to  uncover  the  standards  and  reopen  their  conscious- 
ness to  them ;  exactly  what  is  done  by  Christ  and  his 
rejected  Messiahship,  inwardly  applied  b}^  the  Spirit 
of  God.  The  result  is  conviction  of  sin ;  which  is  only 
a  state  of  moral  self-knowledge  revived.  Doubtless 
there  is  a  pain  in  this  kind  of  self-knowledge,  but  it  is 
none  the  less  intelligent  on  that  account.  The  sense 
of  guilt  is  itself  a  pain  of  the  mind,  just  as  light  is  pain 
to  a  diseased  eye;  but  light  is  none  the  less  truly  light, 
and  guilt  is  none  the  less  truly  intelligent,  on  that  ac- 
count. This  returning  of  guilty  conviction  is,  in  fact, 
the  dawning,  or  may  be,  of  an  everlasting  and  complete 
intelligence,  in  just  that  highest,  moral  side  of  the  na- 
ture, that  was  going  down  out  of  intelligence,  into  stupor 
and  blindness.  Is  it  then  a  severity  in  Christ  that  he  is 
counting  on  a  result  of  his  ministry  and  death,  so  essen- 
tially great  and  beneficent? 

2.  It  is  quite  evident  that  such  a  being  as  Christ 
could  not  come  into  the  world  and  pass  through  it,  and 
out  of  it,  in  such  a  manner,  without  stirring  the  pro- 
ton ndest  ])ossible  convictions  of  character.  If  the 
divine  glory  and  spotless  love  of  God  are  by  him  incar- 
nated into  the  w^orld,  the  revelation  must  be  one  that 

11 


122  CONVICTION    OF    SIN 

raises  a  great  inward  commotion.  It  should  not  s\ir- 
prise  ns  that  even  the  bad  spirits  were  rallied,  in  that  day, 
to  a  pitch  of  unwonted  disturbance  and  malign  activity, 
much  more  the  bad  mind  of  the  race.  The  great  stand- 
ards of  holiness,  so  fatally  blurred  as  rules,  will  be  all 
brought  forth  again,  speaking  in  the  doctrine,  shining 
out  in  the  perfect  life.  Every  guilty  mind  will  feel 
itself  arraigned,  and  brought  to  know  itself,  that  be- 
holds, or  looks  into,  the  perfect  glass  of  history  that 
describes  this  life.  And  above  all  when  it  is  ended  by 
such  a  death,  inflicted  by  a  world  in  wrong,  who  that 
knows  himself  to  be  a  man,  will  not  be  visited  by  silent 
pangs,  not  easy  to  be  stifled. 

3.  Christ  was  a  being  who  perfectly  knew  the  pure 
standards  of  character  and  duty,  knowing,  as  well,  just 
what  sin  is  in  the  breach  of  them,  and  what  man  is  in  the 
sin.  He  also  knows  of  course,  exactly  what  is  neces- 
sary to  stir  up  the  guilty  consciousness  of  men ;  some- 
times doing  it  by  instruction,  sometimes  by  acts  of  un- 
wonted patience  and  beneficence,  sometimes  by  terrible 
rebukes  and  lifted  rods  of  chastisement,  and  more  than 
once  by  a  divine  skill  of  silence — as  when  stooping  do  vn, 
once  and  again,  he  drew  mystic  figures  on  the  ground ; 
sending  out  thus  one  by  one,  condemned  and  guilt- 
stricken,  the  pretentious  accusers  of  the  woman;  or 
when,  scarcely  speaking  and  urging  no  defense,  he  so  vis- 
ibly shook  with  concern,  the  guilty  mind  of  Pilate,  by 
the  dumb  innocence  only  of  his  manner.  He  knew  ex- 
actly what  to  do  on  all  occasions,  and  with  all  different 
classes  of  men,  to  put  the  sense  of  guilt  upon  them,  and 


BY   THE    CROSS.  123 

we  can  see  ourselves,  that  be  has  it  for  one  of  the  great 
objects  of  his  ministry,  even  as  it  was  a  great  expecta- 
tion, in  the  matter  of  his  death,  that  all  enemies  and 
rejecters  would  discover,  in  bitter  pangs  of  conviction, 
that,  in  what  they  have  done  upon  him,  they  have  only 
let  their  sin  reveal  its  own  madness.     Let  us  turn  now 

4.  To  the  scriptures  and  gather  up  some  few  of  the 
tokens  that  Christ,  before  his  coming,  was  expected  to 
come  in  this  character;  and  also  of  the  declarations,  by 
himself  and  his  followers  afterward,  that  he  had,  es- 
pecially in  his  death,  accomplished  such  a  result. 

"They  shall  look  on  me  whom  they  have  pierced," 
says  the  prophet,  "  and  they  shall  mourn."  Other  ex- 
pressions of  the  prophets  correspond.  Accordingly 
when  the  infant  Jesus  was  brought  to  Simeon,  by  his 
mother,  he  said  to  her,  "  Behold  this  child  is  set  for  the 
fall  and  rising  again  of  many  in  Israel,  and  for  a  sign 
which  shall  be  spokv.n  against,  that  the  thoughts  of 
many  hearts  may  be  revealed."  His  rejection  was  to 
reveal  the  heart  of  his  rejectors.  John  the  Baptist  con- 
ceives, in  the  same  manner,  that  he  is  coming  with 
''the  axe"  of  conviction,  to  be  laid  to  the  root  of  all 
sin,  and  "  the  fan "  of  separation,  to  winnow  out  the 
chaflfiness  of  all  pretense,  so  to  unmask  the  secrecy  of 
guilt  and  place  it  in  the  open  light  of  conviction. 

Christ  himself  also  testifies  that  he  has  done  it,  say- 
ing to  Nicodemus,  "  He  that  believeth  not  is  condemned 
already,  because  he  hath  not  believed  in  the  name  of 
the  only  begotten  Son  of  God.  And  this  is  the  condem- 
nation (how  deeply  shall  the  sting  of  it  some  time  pierce 


124  CONVICTIOX    (3F    Sm 

the  heart  of  my  rejecters,) — this  is  the  condemnation, 
that  liglit  is  come  into  the  world  and  men  have  loved 
darkness  rather  than  light,  because  their  deeds  were  evil." 
On  another  occasion,  he  says,  to  the  same  effect, — "If  I 
had  not  come  and  spoken  unto  them,  they  had  not 
liad  sin,  but  now  they  have  no  cloak  for  their  sin;" — 
they  see  now,  by  what  they  reject  and  hate,  precisely 
what  they  are — "If  I  had  not  done  among  them  the 
work  which  none  other  man  did,  they  had  not  had  sin, 
but  now  have  they  both  seen  and  hated  both  me  and 
my  Father ;"  intimating  clearly  that  their  hatred  of  him, 
they  will  sometime  see,  is,  at  bottom,  a  hatred  of  good- 
ness itself  On  still  another  occasion,  he  brings  ont  the 
same  truth  more  argumentatively,  saying — "If  God 
were  your  Father,  ye  wonld  love  me ;  for  I  proceeded 
forth  and  came  from  God.  He  that  is  of  God  heareth 
my  words,  ye  therefore  hear  them  not,  because  ye  are 
not  of  God."  Your  rejection  of  me  is  nothing  but  an 
exhibition  without,  of  that  rejection  of  God  in  which  you 
inwardly  live.  The  bitterness  of  their  reply  you  know. 
Take  the  trial  scene  of  Jesus  next,  noting  first,  the 
bad  spirit  out  of  which  it  comes,  and  then  the  guilty 
conviction  that  follows  it.  What  injury  had  Christ  done 
to  Caiaphas  and  the  managers  of  his  party,  that  they 
should  be  so  bitterly  exasperated  against  him?  There 
was  never  a  more  inoffensive  being,  save  as  goodness 
is  itself  an  offense  to  sin.  Hence  the  violence  of  their 
animosity ;  for  no  man  is  so  violent  and  brutish  in  his 
animosities,  as  he  that  is  storming  against  goodness,  to 
drown  the  disturbance,  and  redress  the  guilty  pangs  it 


BY    THE    CliOSS.  125 

creates  in  an  evil  conscience.      Hence  tlie  barbarous 
insults  put  upon  the  Saviour's  person.     If  these  gieat 
people  of  Jerusalem — high-priests,  rabbis,  scribes,  aud 
others — had  been  a  tribe  of  Osages,   or  Dyaks,   their 
treatment  of  Jesus  would  have  been  exactly  in  charac- 
\(ir.     The  slap  in  the  face,  the  crown  of  thorns,  the 
mockeries,    the    scourging,  the   spitting,  the    wagging 
of  the  heads,  and  the  jeer  "let  him  come  down,"  con- 
nected with  a  visibly  conscious  disrespect  to  evidence 
and  justice,  and  with  outcries  raised  to  stifle  even  the 
sense  of  justice;  the  malignity  and  spite  of  the  punish- 
ment itself,  a  slave's  punishment,  a  crucifixion  put  upon 
a  man  whose  dignity  and  the  power  of  whose  words, 
— "  speaking  as  never  man  spake" — had  been  a  principal 
part  of  his  offense — what  does  it  mean  that  gentlemen, 
Jewish  leaders  of  the  highest  standing  and  culture,  are 
found  instigating  these  low  barbarities  of  spite  and  cru- 
elty ?   What  has  he  done  to  transform  civilized  men  inte 
savages  in  this  manner?     O  it  is  the  offense  of  his  char- 
acter!    He  has  raised  up  demons  of  remorse  in  the  con- 
science of  these  men,  by  the  luster  simply  of  his  good- 
ness.    This  it  is  that  rankles  in  their  hatred  and  hate, 
as  against  goodness,  is  a  feeling  too  weak  to  suffer  the 
assumption  even  of  dignity.     Hence  the  simply  diabol- 
ical frenz}^  of  their  conduct. 

Mark  the  result.  The  very  moment  after  Jesus  has 
commended  his  spirit  to  the  Father  and  ceased  to 
breathe,  the  conviction  of  crime  begins  to  break  through 
the  enmity  of  his  crucifiers.  Their  malignity  is  discov- 
ered, they  could  hate  a  living  enemy,  but  the  helpless 

11* 


126  CONVICTION     OF    SIN 

body  of  a  dead  one  over- r/i asters  their  violence.  Trxv 
mediately  the  centurion  hitnself  glorified  God,  saying. 
"certainly  this  was  a  righteous  man."  "And  all  the 
people  that  came  together  to  that  sight,  beholding  the 
things  which  were  done,  smote  their  breasts  and  re- 
turned."  This  is  the  sign  that  was  "to  be  spf>ken 
against,"  and  now  "the  thoughts  of  many  hearts'" 
begin  to  be  "  revealed."  "  They  look  on  him  whom 
they   have   pierced,"  and  they  are  pierced  themselves. 

ISIext  we  see  the  great  principle  of  conviction — "of 
sin  because  they  believe  not  on  me," — beginning  to  be 
wielded  with  overwhelming  energy,  by  the  apostles. 
This  very  truth  charged  home — you  have  rejected  and 
crucified  Christ — is  the  arrow  of  the  day  of  Pentecost. 
"  Therefore  let  all  the  house  of  Israel  know  assuredly," 
says  Peter  in  his  sermon  on  that  occasion,  "  that  God 
hath  made  that  same  Jesus  whom  yc  crucified  both  Lord 
and  Christ — he  hath  shed  forth  this  which  you  now  see 
and  hear.  Now  when  they  heard  this,  they  were 
pricked  in  their  heart,  and  cried — '  Men  and  brethren, 
what  shall  we  do?'  " 

And  the  very  next  sermon  of  Peter  hangs  upon  the 
same  bitter  truth  of  conviction.  "  Ye  denied  the  Holy 
One  and  the  Just,  and  desired  a  murderer  to  be  granted 
unto  you,  and  killed  the  Prince  of  Life,  whom  God 
hath  raised  from  the  dead,  whereof  we  are  witnesses." 

And  again,  in  the  third  sermon  of  the  same  apostle, 
he  hurls  the  same  arrow.  "  For  of  a  truth  against  thy 
holy  child  Jesus,  whom  thou  hast  anointed,  both  Herod 
and  Pontius  Pilate,  with  the  Gentiles  and  thy  people 


BY    THE    CROSS.  127 

Israel,  were  gathered  together." — all  orders  and  nations, 
because  all  alike  are  sinners — "  and  now  behold  their 
threatenings  and  grant  unto  thy  servants  that  with  all 
boldness  they  may  speak  thy  word."  Whereupon  tho 
place  is  shaken  again  a  third  time.  Under  the  first  ser- 
mon, three  thousand  souls  have  the  thoughts  of  their 
hearts  revealed,  and  turn  to  seek  salvation  in  Jesus 
Christ.  Under  the  second,  the  number  is  swelled  to 
five  thousand.  Under  the  third,  the  count  ceases  and 
the  number  becomes  a  multitude — "  the  multitude  of 
them  that  believed." 

So  it  was  that  Peter,  in  his  preaching,  charged  home 
upon  his  hearers  everywhere  the  rejecting  and  denying 
of  Jesus  the  Saviour. 

Paul  too  was  traveling  over  all  seas,  and  through  all 
lands,  telling  the  story  of  his  remarkable  conversion — 
how  at  first  he  disbelieved  and  hated  the  very  name  of 
Jesus,  how  he  was  exceedingly  mad  against  his  follow- 
ers, and  went  about  dragging  them  to  prison,  till,  at 
last,  on  his  way  to  Damascus,  he  was  met  by  that  word 
of  irresistible  conviction,  which  had  been  so  powerful 
many  times  before — "I  am  Jesus  whom  thou  perse- 
cutest."  O  what  depths  were  opened  now  in  the  perse- 
cutor's heart !  All  his  bitter  wrongs  and  fiery  inflictions 
flame  back  in  that  word — "  I  am  Jesus  whom  thou  per- 
secutest!"  showing  him  the  madness  that  reigns  within. 
Thus  begins  the  life  in  Christ  of  this  great  apostle — it- 
self an  illustration  how  sublime  of  the  Saviour's  thought  I 
*'  Of  sin  because  they  believe  not  in  me."  But  there  is 
a  reason — 


128  CONVICTION    OF    SIN 

5.  Back  of  this  great  fact,  in  the  scheme  of  the  gos- 
pel, ill  which  it  is  grounded ;  viz.,  that  a  very  bad  ac; 
often  brings  out  the  show  of  a  bad  spirit  within  and 
becomes,  in  that  manner,  a  most  appalling  argument  of 
conviction.  Hence  the  immense  convincing  power  to 
bo  exerted  on  mankind  through  the  crucifixion  of  Christ 
"by  his  enemies.  Even  as  a  profligate,  unfilial  son,  dis- 
covers himself  as  he  is,  and  receives  the  true  impress- 
ion, for  the  first  time,  of  his  own  dire  wickedness  and 
passion,  when  he  looks  upon  the  murdered  form  of  his 
father,  and  washes  the  stains  of  parricide  from  his  hands. 
In  like  manner  Joseph's  brethren,  when  he  stood  re- 
vealed before  them,  as  the  brother  whom  they  cruelly 
sold,  were  struck  dumb  with  guilt,  and  could  not  so 
much  as  speak  to  ask  his  forgiveness.  So  also  Herod, 
haunted  by  the  sense  of  his  crime  in  the  murder  of 
John,  imagined,  in  the  wild  tumult  of  his  guilty  brain, 
that  Christ  must  be  the  prophet's  ghost,  returning  to  be 
avenged  of  his  wrong. 

The  death,  or  public  execution  of  Socrates  affords,  in 
some  respects,  a  more  striking  illustration.  His  pure 
morality  of  life,  his  sublime  doctrine  of  virtue,  the  dis- 
i^.redit  reflected  on  the  gods  of  his  country,  by  his  be- 
lief in  a  supreme,  all-perfect  God  and  governor  of  the 
world,  worthy  of  a  better  worship,  raised  up  enemies 
and  accusers,  who  indicted  him  as  a  corrupter  of  the 
youth,  and  a  denier  of  the  gods  of  his  country.  The 
people,  artfully  wrought  upon,  voted  his  death.  Shortly 
after,  the  dead  teacher  rose  upon  them  mightier  even 
than  the  living,  and  a  wave  of  conviction  rolling  back 


BY    THE    CROSS.  129 

upon  their  consciences,  filled  them  with  bitter  distress 
They  voted  his  innocence;  tliey  acknowledged  the  pub- 
lic misfortunes  just  then  coming  upon  the  stale  to  bo 
judgments  of  heaven  upon  their  crime;  they  put  to 
deaih  Miletus  his  principal  accuser,  banished  the  oth- 
er conspirators,  and  erected  a  brazen  statue  to  his  mem- 
ory. So  the  Saviour  says,  "  of  sin  because  they  believe 
not  on  me;"  only  the  reaction  of  his  cross  begins  more 
immediately  and  extends  through  all  the  coming  ages 
of  time.  No  sooner  is  he  dead,  than  all  the  multitude 
present,  not  his  accusers  only  and  his  executioners,  but 
the  lookers-on,  were  pricked  with  heavy  compunctions 
of  feeling,  and  went  home  smiting  their  breasts,  for  an- 
guish they  could  not  repress.  And  with  better  reason 
than  the}^  can  distinctly  know ;  for  it  is  the  Holy  one 
and  the  Just,  the  Perfect  Son  of  God,  whom  they  have 
seen  put  to  death ;  nay  worse,  who  has  not  been  permit- 
ted even  to  die  respectably,  but  has  been  publicly 
stripped,  gibbeted,  exposed  to  shame,  compelled  to  die 
slowly,  like  a  slave,  nailed  fast  upon  a  cross.  He  had 
come  into  the  world  on  a  mission  of  love  from  the 
world  above,  a  perfect  character,  clothed  in  the  essential 
glory  of  a  divine  nature,  a  being  whom  all  the  right- 
eous spirits — angels,  archangels,  and  seraphim — had 
been  wont  to  magnify  and  adore — such  was  the  visitant 
who  lighted,  for  once,  on  the  earth,  and  the  race  of  man- 
kind could  not  suffer  him  to  live,  tore  him  away  in 
their  spite,  from  his  acts  of  healing,  and  his  gentle  mer- 
cies even  to  themselves,  and  thrust  him  out  of  the  world., 
in  mockeries  that  forgot  even  the  appearance  of  dignity 


130  CONVICTION    OF    SIN 

I  have  spoken  of  this  act,  as  the  act  of  the  human 
race,  and  such,  in  some  true  sense,  it  was ;  and  as  such 
has  been  ringing  ever  since  in  the  guilty  conscience  of 
the  race ;  for  it  is,  in  fact,  a  proof  by  experiment,  of 
what  is  in  all  human  hearts.  Thus,  if  there  should 
come  down  from  the  upper  sky  some  pure  dove  that 
has  his  home  in  that  pure  element,  and  the  birds  of  the 
lower  air  should  be  heard  screaming  at  all  points,  and 
seen  pitching  upon  the  unwelcome  visitant  and  striking 
their  beaks  into  his  body,  we  should  have  no  doubt  of 
8ome  radical  unlikeness,  or  repugnance,  between  the 
creatures  of  the  two  elements.  And  this  exactly  is  the 
feeling  that  has  been  forced  upon  the  world's  guilty 
mind,  ever  since,  by  the  crucifixion  of  Jesus.  It  rolls 
back  on  our  thought  in  a  kind  of  silent  horror,  that  will 
not  always  be  repelled,  that  the  manifested  love  of  God; 
impartial  and  broad  as  the  world,  a  grace  for  every  hu- 
man creature,  is  yet  gnashed  upon  by  the  world  and 
crucified.  If  we  say  that  this  act  of  crucifixion  was 
not  ours,  it  certainly  was  not  in  the  particular  sense 
intended,  and  yet  in  another  and  much  deeper  sense,  it 
was ;  viz.,  in  the  sense  that  what  it  signifies  was  ours. 
It  was  done  by  mankind,  as  Christ  was  a  Saviour  for 
mankind,  and  we  are  men.  It  proves  for  one  age  all 
that  it  proves  for  another ;  proves  for  the  lookers-on  all 
which  it  proves  for  the  doers.  In  this  manner  it  id 
yours,  it  is  mine.  I  think  it  quite  certain,  sometimes, 
that  I  should  have  had  no  part  it,  and  it  may  be  that  I 
should  not.  But  again  I  sometimes  shudder  privately 
over  the  question,  whether  if  such  a  being  were  to  come 


BY    THE    CROSS.  131 

upon  tlie  earth  now,  in  my  own  day,  one  so  peculiar,  so 
little  subject  to  the  respectabilities  and  conventionali- 
tiei^-  of  religion,  doing  such  miracles,  becoming  an 
offense  to  so  many  religious  schools  and  rabbis,  charged 
so  inevitably  with  being  a  wild  impostor,  I  should  not 
be  quite  turned  away  from  him.  Perhaps  I  should  not 
join  his  crucifiers,  but  should  I  not  as  truly  reject  him 
as  they  ?  O  shame  to  say  it,  but  it  fills  me  with  pain, 
or  even  with  a  kind  of  horror,  to  conceive  the  possibil- 
ity. Were  not  his  enemies  religious  men  in  their  habit, 
serious,  thoughtful  men,  exact  in  the  observances  of 
their  religion,  many  of  them  even  sanctimonious  in 
their  lives?  Had  they  not  religious  pretexts  for  all 
that  they  did?  At  any  rate  they  had  human  hearts, 
and  so  have  you  and  I.  And  will  not  what  they  show 
for  their  own  heart,  be  as  good  a  proof  for  us  ?  So  felt 
the  multitude  of  spectators,  and  the  feeling  of  the  world 
has  been  the  same. 

Lastly,  there  is  another  and  more  direct  kind  of  argu- 
ment, that  I  mean  which  we  get  from  our  own  con- 
sciousness. I  think  I  may  assert,  with  confidence,  that 
there  is  no  man  living,  who  is  not  made  conscious,  at 
times,  of  sin,  as  in  no  other  manner,  by  the  simple  fact 
of  his  own  rejection  of  Christ.  Nor  does  it  make  any 
great  difi'erence,  if  his  belief  appears  to  be  hindered  by 
speculative  difficulties.  He  may  imagine,  or  distinctly 
maintain,  that  he  rejects,  or  does  not  believe,  on  the 
ground  of  sufficient  evidence.  Still  Christ  is  Christ, 
and  the  cross  is  the  cross,  and  he  can  not  so  much  as 
think  of  himself,  before  the  merely  conceived  image  of 


132  CONVICTION    OP^    SIN 

a  goodness  so  divine — be  it  really  historic  or  not — with* 
out  a  feeling  of  disturbance,  in  the  not  cleaving  to  the 
profound  reality  of  the  truth  discovered  in  him.  N'o 
matter  what  may  be  reasoned  by  infidels  and  Christian 
speculatists  about,  against,  or  for,  the  historic  person  of 
Christ;  if  he  is  a  fiction  only,  or  a  myth,  a  romance 
of  character  gotten  up  by  three  or  four  of  the  most  un- 
romantic  writers  of  the  world,  still  he  is  the  greatest, 
solidest,  most  real  truth  ever  known  to  man.  The 
mere  conception  of  such  a  life  and  character  is  inhe- 
rently eternal — more  indestructible,  and  so  far  more  real 
than  a  mountain  of  rock.  It  affirms  itself  eternally  as 
light,  by  its  own  self-evidence,  and  the  soul  of  guilt 
trembles  inwardly  before  it — trembles  even  the  more 
certainly  that  it  is  a  good  approved,  but  not  welcomed, 
or  embraced.  Enough  that  the  Christ  of  the  N'ew  Tes- 
tament is  the  want,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  of 
every  human  heart,  and  that  aching  secretly  for  him,  it 
aches  the  more  that  it  has  him  not,  and  still  the  more 
that  it  will  not  have  him.  Who  of  you  could  ever 
think  of  him  rejected  without  a  pang? 

But  the  most  of  you  are  troubled  by  no  such  specu- 
lative doubts ;  you  are  only  selfish  and  earthly,  want 
your  pleasures,  want  other  objects  more,  that  must  be 
renounced  to  receive  him — meaning  still,  at  some  time, 
to  do  it,  and  become  his  disciples.  Living  in  this 
feeble  and  consciously  false  key,  your  courage  wavers, 
and  self-rebuking  thoughts  are,  ever  and  anon,  making 
their  troublesome  irruptions  upon  you.  When  the 
Saviour  says — "Of  sin  because  they  believe  not  on 


BTTHECKOSS.  133 

me,"  the  very  words  sbarpeD  guilty  pangs  in  your  bo- 
som. Sometimes  the  question  rises  distinctly,  wh}^  is  it, 
that  beholding  this  love,  I  still  do  not  embrace  it? 
why  do  I  so  profoundly  admire  this  wonderful  excel- 
lence and  still  suppress  the  longings  I  so  consciously 
feel  ?  And  then  the  goodness  rejected  becomes  a  fire  of 
Hinnom  in  your  uneasy  convictions.  It  is  not  any  par- 
ticular sins  that  trouble  you  thus ;  consciously  it  is  sin — 
nothing  else  explains  you  to  yourself.  The  conviction 
of  it  runs  quivering  along  your  feeling  in  sharp  pangs 
of  remorse,  and  you  half  expect  to  hear — "I  am  Jesus 
of  Nazareth  whom  thou  rejectest."  Even  his  tenderest 
call  comes  to  you,  more  as  an  arrow,  than  as  a  balm, 
and  your  heart  is  inwardly  stung,  pricked  through  and 
through,  with  the  rankle  of  thoughts  that  are  being 
revealed.  How  many  have  passed,  or  now  are  passing 
through  just  this  struggle  of  experience.  To  many  too 
it  will  have  been,  I  trust,  the  gate  of  heaven. 

But  I  must  not  close  my  argument  on  this  great  subject, 
without  noting  a  common  objection ;  viz.,  that  all  such 
phases  of  mental  disturbance  called  conviction  of  sin, 
in  the  New  Testament,  are  too  weak  for  respect,  and 
should  not  be  indulged,  even  if  they  are  felt.  But 
if  they  are  according  to  truth,  if  they  are  so  far  intelli- 
gent as  to  be  modes  of  sensibility  accurately  squared 
by  the  fact  of  character  within,  then  they  are  only  a 
kind  of  weakness  that  is  stronger  by  far  allowed  than 
stifled.  They  are  however,  in  some  sense,  moods  of 
weakness,  I  must  still  admit ;  for  they  belong  to  sin  and 
sir  itself  is  weak.     Nothing  in  fact  is  weaker.     Cour 

12 


iS'i  CONVICTION    OF    SIN 

age,  repose,  equilibrium,  strength  of  will,  firmness  of 
confidence — all  these  receive  a  shock  under  sin,  and 
are  more  or  less  fatally  broken.  Were  not  all  those 
Athenians  weak  who  wept  the  death  of  Socrates,  when 
they  saw  his  place  made  vacant  by  themselves  ?  But 
that  weakness  it  was  even  honorable  to  suffer,  because 
it  was  the  very  best  thing  left,  after  they  had  been 
weak  enough  to  vote  his  death.  So,  when  the  Son  of 
God  is  crucified  and  expelled  to  be  seen  no  more,  not 
the  spectators  only  of  the  scene,  but  all  we  that  pierced 
him  by  our  sin  were  to  be  visited  with  guilty,  soul- 
humbling  pains  in  like  manner — how  much  more  that 
he  is  gone  np  visibly,  as  the  wonderful  Greek  was 
not,  to  be  stated  in  the  eternal  majesty  of  righteousness 
and  judgment.  All  sin  is  weak,  and  the  convincing 
cross  must  needs  bring  out  the  revelation  of  weakness, 
even  as  it  did  at  the  first.  When  the  marshal's  band, 
sent  out  to  make  the  arrest,  were  shaken  out  of  courage 
and  strength  enough  even  to  stand,  they  fitly  opened  the 
scene  that  followed,  by  their  backward  fall  and  prostra- 
tion. Was  not  Peter  weak  when  he  wept  bitterly? 
Was  not  Judas  weak  when  he  cast  down  the  money  for 
which  he  sold  him  ?  Were  not  the  priests  and  elders 
weak  when  they  said  "he  stirreth  up  the  people?" 
Was  not  Pilate  weak  when  he  was  "  the  more  afraid  ?" 
Were  not  the  multitude  when  they  went  home  smiting 
their  breasts?  Nay,  were  not  the  rocks  themselves 
weak  when  they  shcok,  and  the  tomb  when  it  opened, 
and  the  stone  when  it  rolled  back  ?  0,  it  was  a  mighty 
judgment  day,  that  day  of  the  cross ;  token  visible,  tc 


BY    THE    CROSS.  135 

you  and  to  me,  of  that  other,  higher  judgment  which 
our  righteous  Lord  has  gone  up  to  assume  I  Hence  the 
distress  which  rises  in  so  many  hearts  before  the  cross, 
and  which  some  can  think  of  only  with  disrespect. 
Could  they  learn  to  disrespect  the  sin  that  makes  it 
necessary,  they  might  even  honor  it  rather,  as  the  sign, 
^r  beginning,  of  a  return  to  righteousness  and  reason. 

In  what  manner  Christ  was  to  convince  of  sin  we 
have  now  seen,  and  no  farther  argument  appears  to  be 
needed.  But  the  subject  can  not  be  fitly  concluded 
without  noting  a  remarkable  effect  that  has  followed 
the  cross  as  a  convincing  power  on  the  world ;  viz.,  the 
fact  that,  in  what  is  called  Christendom,  there  has  been 
a  manifest  uplifting  of  the  moral  standards,  and  a  corre- 
spondent quickening  of  the  moral  sensibilities,  both 
of  individual  men,  and  of  whole  races  and  peoples.  In 
the  people  of  the  old  dispensation  and  of  the  great 
Pagan  empires  long  ago  converted  to  the  cross,  moral 
ideas  have  now  taken  the  place,  to  a  great  extent,  of 
force ;  the  coarse,  blank  apathy  of  sin  is  broken  up ; 
the  sense  of  duty  is  more  piercing ;  and  it  is  even  as  if 
a  new  conscience  had  been  given  respecting  the  soul  in 
its  relations  to  God.  It  is  as  if  men  had  seen  their 
state  of  sin  glassed  before  them,  and  made  visible  in 
the  rejection  of  Christ  and  his  cross.  Jews  and  Pagans 
had  before  been  made  conscious  at  times  of  particular 
sins;  we  are  made  conscious,  in  a  deeper  and  more 
appalling  way,  of  the  state  of  sin  itself,  the  damning 
evil  that  infects  our  humanity  at  the  root— that  which 


136  CONVICTION    OF    SIN 

rejected  and  crucified  the  Son  of  God,  and  is  in  fact, 
the  general  madness  and  lost  condition  of  the  race. 
Thus,  immediately  after  the  departure  of  Christ  from 
the  world,  that  is  on  the  day  of  Pentecost,  there  broke 
out  a  new  demonstration  of  sensibility  to  sin,  such  as 
was  never  before  seen.  In  the  days  of  the  law,  men  had 
their  visitations  of  guilt  and  remorse,  respecting  this  or 
that  wrong  act ;  but  I  do  not  recollect  even  under  the 
prophets,  those  great  preachers  of  the  law,  and  sharpest 
and  most  terrible  sifters  of  transgression,  a  single  in- 
stance, where  a  soul  is  so  broken,  or  distressed,  by  the 
conviction  of  its  own  bad  state  under  sin,  as  to  ask 
what  it  must  do  to  be  saved — the  very  thing  which 
many  thousands  did,  on  the  day  of  Pentecost,  and  in  the 
weeks  that  followed,  and  have  been  doing  even  till 
now.  So  different  a  matter  is  it  to  have  rules  in  a 
book,  or  rules  in  the  conscience,  from  having  them 
bodied  into  power,  through  a  person,  or  personal  char- 
acter ;  that  character,  hated,  persecuted,  murdered,  by 
the  public  will  and  voice;  that  murdered  one  rising 
again  to  be  glorified  in  the  triumphant  righteousness 
of  his  life ;  that  righteousness,  after  having  cast  down 
principalities  and  powers,  installed  in  the  judgment 
bench  of  the  world.  Hence  an  amazing  accession  of 
strength,  in  the  moral  standards  and  convictions  of  all 
Christian  peoples.  It  is  all  from  the  cross ;  which  has 
raised  the  sense  of  guilt  in  human  bosoms  to  such  a  pitch, 
that  even  strong  men  weep,  and  groan,  and  tremble  for 
their  sin.  Every  sensibility  that  lies  about  the  standards 
of  the  soul,  and  its  fallen  possibilities  in  defection  from 


BY    THE    CROSS.  137 

them,  is  amazingly  quickened.  And  it  i?  just  this  to 
which  the  apostle  refers,  when  speaking  to  the  Hebrews 
of  "  the  word  of  God" — he  means  the  new  word  of  Chris- 
tianity, that  which  we  have  now,  and  not  the  old  word 
of  the  law — "For  the  word  of  God  is  quick  and 
powerful,  sharper  than  any  two-edged  sword,  piercing 
even  to  the  dividing  asunder  of  soul  and  spirit,  and  of  the 
joints  and  marrow,  and  is  a  discerner  of  the  thoughts  and 
intents  of  the  heart."  Having  this  penetratirg  and  con- 
vincing efiicacy,  the  word  of  the  cross  is  capable  of  a 
most  faithful  and  deep  work  in  the  character ;  no  gospel 
therefore  of  temporizing  mercy,  and  slight  healing,  but 
a  downright,  thorough-going,  radical,  life-renewing 
energy — a  power  of  God  unto  salvation.  It  bends  to  no 
false  principle,  deals  in  no  mock  sentiment,  hides  no 
point  of  exactness,  spares  no  necessary  pain.  It  applies 
to  sin  a  surgery  deep  as  the  malady,  it  cuts  the  cancer 
clean  out  by  conviction,  that  a  genuine,  true  healing 
may  follow.  Just  so  much  worthier  is  it  of  our  confi- 
dence and  respect.  And  what  shall  we  do  but  open 
our  heart  to  it,  counting  it  even  good  to  be  condemned 
before  a  salvation  so  thorough,  so  deeply  grounded  in 
t!ie  unsparing  severities  of  truth.  But  this  condemna- 
tion, these  unsparing  severities,  it  behooves  us  to  re- 
member, will  be  not  less  piercing,  when  they  cease  to 
come  in  the  hopeful  guise  of  a  salvation.  Doubtless 
Christ  rejected,  will  have  a  convincing  power  always, 
even  in  the  future  life.  Moral  ideas  and  standards  will 
be  raised,  and  moral  sensibilities  quickened  still  by  the 
cross  lemembered.      And  the  pangs  of  guilt  will   of 

12* 


138  CONVICTION    OF    SIN,    ETC. 

course  be  sharpened  still  farther,  by  the  barren  regrets 
and  the  hopeless  future  of  that  undone  state.  O,  that 
desert  of  guilt — to  one  that  has  journeyed  long  ages  in 
its  fiery  and  thirsty  sands,  how  dreadful  the  words  of 
the  rejected  Saviour  still  ringing  and  forever  in  his 
memory, —  "Of    sin    because    they    believe  not 


VII. 

CHRIST  ASLEEP. 

^^And  behold  there  arose  a  great  tempes  t  in  the  sea,  irtsO" 
much  that  the  ship  was  covered  with  the  loaves :  but  he  was 
asleep.'^ — Matt.,  viii.  24. 

Christ  asleep — the  eternal  Word  of  the  Father,  incar- 
nate, lapped  in  the  soft  oblivion  of  unconsdousness — a 
very  strange  fact,  when  deeply  enough  pondered  to 
reveal  its  significant  and  even  singular  implications. 

Where  then  do  we  go  to  look  upon  so  great  a  sight, 
the  sleep  of  God's  Messiah?  Is  he  royally  bestowed 
in  some  retired  hall,  or  chamber  of  his  palace  ?  Is  he 
curtained  about  and  canopied  over  on  his  bed  of  down,  as 
one  retiring  into  the  deepest  folds  of  luxury,  there  to 
woo  the  delicate  approach  of  sleep?  Must  no  doors  be 
swinging,  no  feet  of  attendants  stirring  in  the  halls? 
Are  the  windows  carefully  shaded,  lest  some  ray  of 
moonlight  streaming  in  may  break  the  tender  spell  of 
the  sleeper  ?  No,  it  is  not  so  that  Jesus  sleeps,  or  v/ith 
any  such  delicate  provisions  of  luxury  to  smooth  his 
rest ;  but  he  is  out  upon  the  Gennesaret,  in  some  little 
craft  that  his  disciples  have  picked  up  for  the  crossing, 
and  upon  the  short  space  of  flooring,  or  deck,  in  the 
hinder  part,  he  sinks,  overcome  with  exhaustion,  andi* 


1-40  CHRIST     ASLEEP 

buried  shortly  in  the  deepest,  soundest  sleep.  The 
open  sky  is  over  him,  the  boat  swings  drowsily  among 
the  waves,  and  the  boatmen,  talking  over  the  miracles 
of  the  day,  and  all  they  have  seen  and  heard,  under 
the  wonderful  new  ministry,  continue  on,  as  we  may 
suppose,  till  by  degrees  the  conversation  lulls,  the 
replies  become  slow  and  sepulchral,  as  if  coming  from 
afar,  and  finally  cease.  Meantime  Jesus  sleeps,  fanned 
by  the  gentle  breath  of  the  night,  rocked  by  the  bab- 
bling waters,  watched  by  the  stars,  that  brighten  seem- 
ingly to  a  finer  purity,  reflected  from  the  sleeper's 
dreams. 

By  and  by  a  change  appears.  A  dark  and  ominous 
cloud,  sailing  up,  shuts  in  the  sky.  The  lightnings  be- 
gin to  flill,  crashing  on  the  head  of  Hermon  and  Tabor, 
and  very  soon  the  tempest  that  was  booming  heavily 
in  the  distance  strikes  the  little  skiff,  dashing  the  waves 
across,  and  filling  instantly  the  forward  part  with  water. 
The  little  company  are  thrown,  as  it  w^ould  seem,  into 
the  greatest  panic  and  confusion,  unable  to  manage  the 
sinking  vessel,  and  only  mixing  their  cries  of  distress 
with  the  general  tumult  of  the  storm.  Still  Jesus 
sleeps,  folded  in  that  deep  self-oblivion  which  no  rage 
of  the  elements  can  disturb.  "  And  behold  there  arose 
a  great  tempest  in  the  sea,  insomuch  that  the  ship  was 
•overed  with  the  waves:  but  he  was  asleep."  Even  so, 
no  wildest  tumult  without  can  reach  the  inward  compo- 
sure of  his  rest.  The  rain  beating  on  his  face,  and  the 
spray  driving  across  it,  and  the  sharp  gleams  of  the 
lightning,  and  the  crash  of  the  thunder,  and  the  roai  of 


CHKIST    ASLEEP.  141 

the  storm,  and  the  screams  of  the  men — not  all  of  these 
can  shake  him,  far  enough  inward  to  reach  the  center 
wliere  sleep  lodges  and  waken  him  to  consciousness.  It 
is  as  if  both  consciousness  and  soul  were  gone — gone 
U])  in  holy  dream,  to  bask  in  the  divine  peace,  breath- 
ing airs  of  music,  and  w^andering  along  the  rivers  of 
paradise,  where  angels  moor  their  boats  and  watch  the 
currents  of  eternity.  Finally  sonie  one  touches  him 
gently  and  says,  "Master;"  whereupon  he  is  roused 
instantly ;  for  it  is  a  tender  word,  spoken,  too,  distress- 
fully, in  a  manner  of  appeal,  and  there  is  no  softest  call 
of  compassion  that  is  not  louder  in  his  ear  than  either 
tempest  or  thunder.  So  his  sleep  is  ended,  and  the 
storm,  in  turn,  is  laid  in  a  deeper  sleep  than  he. 

The  sleeping  of  Jesus  I  believe  is  mentioned  nowhere 
else  in  the  gospels,  and  I  do  not  recollect  ever  to  have 
heard  the  subject  presented  as  a  topic  of  discourse,  or 
even  distinctly  noticed — an  omission  the  more  remark- 
able that  the  theologic  implications  of  the  fact  appear 
to  be  so  important 

Sleep  is  a  shadow  that  falls  on  the  soul,  as  well  as  on 
the  body.  It  is  such  a  kind  of  state,  or  affection,  as 
makes  even  the  nQ.ind,  or  intelhgent  principle,  uncon- 
pcious.  What  could  be  more  in  point,  then,  for  the 
speculative  humanitarian,  than  to  call  this  fact  to  his 
aid,  by  raising  the  question,  what  can  be  made  of  the 
sleep  of  Jesus,  on  the  supposition  that  he  is  divine? 
Does  sleep  attack  divinity?  How  can  it  be  conceived 
that  deity,  or  a  nature  essentially  deific,  sleeps,  falling 


11:2  CHRIST    ASLEEP. 

into  the  condition  of  unconsciousness  ?  And  ttien  what 
next  should  follow,  in  the  common  way,  but  that  such 
as  think  to  maintain  the  divinity  of  Christ,  only  as  thej 
are  able  to  explain  it,  will  make  answer,  that  it  is  the 
liunian  nature  of  Jesus  that  sleeps  and  not  the  divine — 
giving  up  thus,  for  the  time,  the  fact  of  the  incarnation 
i  I  self;  which,  if  it  is  any  thing,  is  the  absolute  unity 
of  the  divine  and  the  human  in  one  person. 

It  would  carry  me  too  far,  to  go  into  these  questions 
here,  taking  me,  in  fact,  quite  away  from  my  subject. 
I  most  readily  admit  that  Jesus,  being  essentially  a 
divine  person,  can  not,  in  good  logic,  sleep;  and  just  as 
certain  it  is  that,  if  we  proceed  logically,  he  can  not,  as 
having  a  deific  nature,  be  a  man.  And  yet  he  both  slept 
and  was  a  man.  As  being  God  incarnate,  the  Word 
made  flesh,  the  infinite  in  the  finite,  he  is  logically  impos- 
sible. But  Grod  has  a  way  of  doing  the  impossible.  In 
the  communication  of  himself  to  men,  he  tears  away  the 
logical  carpentry,  refusing  to  put  his  glory  into  it.  The 
truth  is  that  our  laws  of  thinking  are  totally  at  fault,  in 
regard  to  subjects  of  this  nature,  speculatively  handled. 
All  that  we  can  say  of  the  personality  of  Jesus  is  that 
he  is  a  being  in  our  plane,  and  yet  not  in  it — in  it  as  a 
practical  approach  of  God,  not  in  it  as  being  logically 
resolvable  by  our  scientific  or  speculative  deductions 
The  very  thing  proposed  in  the  person  of  Jesus  is  to 
make  an  approach  transcending  any  possible  explication 
by  us ;  viz.,  to  humanize  divinity ;  that  by  means  of  a 
natuie  fellow  to  our  own,  he  may  bring  himself  wit  bin 
our  range,  and  meet  our  feeling  by  a  feeling  formally  hu- 


CHRIST    ASLEEP.  143 

manized  in  himself.  And  in  order  to  this,  there  must  be 
no  doubt  of  his  humanity;  he  must  not  be  simply 
templed  in  a  human  body,  but  he  must  make  his  hu- 
manity complete  by  that  last,  most  convincing  evidence, 
the  fact  of  sleep.  If  he  were  exhaustible  only,  or 
weak,  or  frail,  as  other  men  are  known  to  be,  but  were 
never  to  sleep,  we  could  scarcely  feel  that  he  is  one  of 
us;  but  beholding  his  intelligence  close  up,  his  con- 
sciousness fall  away,  and  his  prostrate  body  palpitating 
in  deep  slumber,  we  no  longer  question  his  humanity. 
Call  him  the  Word  incarnate,  the  Son  of  God,  God 
manifest :  still  he  is  none  the  less  truly  man  to  us,  now 
that  we  find  him  asleep.  No  matter  if  we  can  not  ex- 
plain the  mystery,  or  seeming  contradiction,  as  we  cer- 
tainly can  not.  To  say  that  only  the  human  soul  sleeps, 
explains  nothing,  and  it  signifies  nothing  more  to  us,  if 
it  does,  than  the  sleep  of  any  other  human  soul.  To 
say  that  he  is  only  human,  is  against  the  plainest  de- 
clarations of  scripture,  and  against  all  that  we  know  of 
his  more  than  mortal  bearing,  or  character.  All  that 
we  can  do  here  is  to  confess  that  the  incarnate  Word  is 
somehow  man,  even  one  of  ourselves,  receiving  and  em- 
bracing in  him  the  eternal  love,  and  fellowship,  and  full- 
ness of  God. 

There  is  then  a  very  great  spiritual  importance,  in 
the  fact  that  Jesus  sleeps.  In  it  we  behold  the  divine 
humanity  sealed  oi  set  in  complete  evidence.  Divine 
he  must  be,  for  his  character  is  deifically  spotless  and 
perfect;  human  he  must  be  for  he  sleeps  like  a  man. 


144  CHRIST    ASLEEP. 

0  tbis  Great  Benefactor  and  World's  Kedeemer  in  his 
sleep !  just  to  look  upon  liim  here,  in  this  strange  hour — 
the  rain  and  the  spray  drenching  his  body,  his  hair  and 
pillow  of  plank  washed  by  the  driving  storm,  his  calm 
benignant  face  lighted  by  the  glittering  flashes  that  set 
the  night  ablaze — thus  to  gaze  upon  him,  king  of  angels 
and  men,  descended  to  this  mortal  plight — how  very  nigh 
does  it  draw  us  to  his  humbled  state,  how  closely, 
and  by  what  easy  ties  of  sympathy,  knit  us  to  his 
person  1 

And  yet  more  nigh,  by  a  sympathy  more  tender, 
when  we  go  over  the  count  of  what  he  had  been  doing 
yesterday,  and  see  how  it  was  that  he  fell  into  a  sleep  so 
profound.  The  warrior  sleeps  returning  spattered  and 
spent  from  the  bloody  horrors  of  the  field ;  the  devotee 
of  pleasure  sleeps,  because  he  has  drunk  the  cup  dry 
and  would  fain  forget  himself;  one  hasting  to  be  rich, 
exhausted  and  spent  by  his  overmastering  cares,  and 
the  strain  of  his  mightj^  passion,  sleeps  a  hurried  sleep, 
fevered  by  his  price-current  dreams ;  the  hireling  sleeps 
on  his  wages,  gathering  strength  for  the  wages  of  to- 
morrow ;  Jesus  sleeps,  because  he  has  emptied  the  fund 
of  his  compassions  and  poured  himself  completely  out 
in  works  of  mercy  to  the  sick  and  the  poor.  His  giv- 
ing way  to  sleep  is  well  accounted  for,  when  we  find 
him  engaged  the  whole  day  previous,  in  works  of  teach- 
ing, advice,  counsel,  sympathy,  consolation,  healing, 
and  rebuke,  such  as  kept  him  in  a  constant  expenditure 
of  feeling  and  strain  of  attention,  that  no  mortal 
strength  could   support.      According  to   Matthew  he 


CHRIST    ASLEEP.  145 

heals  tbe  centurion's  servant,  and  Peter's  wife's  mother, 
and  continues  at  his  work  of  healing,  thronged  by  mul- 
titudes pouring  in  upon  him,  even  till  night.  On  the 
same  day,  according  to  Mark,  he  appears  to  have  given 
the  parable  of  the  sower,  and  that  of  a  candle  hid  undur 
a  bushel,  and  that  of  the  earth  as  a  harvest  field  sown 
by  the  owner,  and  that  of  the  grain  of  mustard  seed, 
with  a  discourse  on  hearing,  and  a  private  exposition 
of  his  parables  to  his  own  immediate  disciples.  It  is 
also  understood  by  some,  combining  what  is  given  in  the 
sixth  chapter  of  Luke,  and  the  third  of  Mark,  that  he  was 
awake  the  whole  night  previous  to  this  day,  engaged  in 
prayer;  that  he  chose  the  twelve  at  day-break,  and  that 
coming  down  from  the  mountain,  he  was  so  thronged,  at 
that  early  hour,  that  he  could  not  so  much  as  eat  bread, 
and  came  near  being  trampled  by  the  crowd ;  whereupon 
his  friends  laid  hold  of  him  to  bring  him  off,  declaring 
that  he  was  beside  himself;  his  mother  and  breth 
ren  also  came  to  expostulate  with  him.  However 
this  may  have  been,  it  is  at  least  clear  that  every 
moment  of  his  day  is  a  draft  upon  his  physical  re- 
sources, and  the  multitude  are  growing  more  clamor- 
ous for  attention  as  their  number  increases,  till  finally, 
unable  to  bear  the  strain  longer,  he  flies  what  he  can 
not  support.  It  even  appears  to  be  intimated  by  Mat- 
thew, that  he  was  obliged  to  effect  his  escape,  by  has- 
*-,ening  on  board  a  vessel  that  lay  near  the  place — "  Now 
whcm  Jesus  saw  great  multitudes  about  him,  he  gave 
commandment  to  depart  to  the  other  side."  The  great- 
ness of  the  multitude,  and  their  pressing  applications 

13 


146  CHKIST    ASLEEP. 

were  rather  a  reason  why  he  should  stay,  than  why  he 
should  try  to  escape.  They  were  only  not  a  reason, 
w^hen  he  was  just  ready  to  sink  for  exhaustion.  Accord- 
ingly we  see  that,  no  sooner  is  he  entered  into  the  boat 
and  cleared  from  the  chore,  than  he  drops  on  the  deck 
of  the  skiff,  apparently  not  minding  the  hunger  of  a 
whole  day's  toil  unrespited,  perhaps,  by  food,  and  is 
buried  immediately  in  a  slumber  so  profound  that  not 
even  the  hurricane  wakes  him. 

In  this  sleep  of  Jesus  therefore,  as  related  to  the 
works  of  the  day,  a  very  great  mistake,  into  w^hich  we 
are  apt  to  fall,  is  corrected  or  prevented ;  the  mistake, 
I  mean,  of  silently  assuming  that  Christ,  being  divine, 
takes  nothing  as  we  do,  and  is  really  not  under  our  hu- 
man conditions  far  enough  to  suffer  exhaustions  of 
nature  by  work  or  by  feeling,  by  hunger,  the  want  of 
sleep,  dejections,  or  recoils  of  wounded  sensibility.  Able 
to  do  even  miracles — to  heal  the  sick,  or  cure  the  l)lind, 
or  raise  the  dead,  or  still  the  sea — we  fall  into  the  im 
pression  that  his  works  really  cost  him  nothing,  and 
that  while  his  lot  appears  to  be  outwardly  dejected,  he 
has,  in  fact,  an  easy  time  of  it.  Exactly  contrary  to 
this,  he  feels  it,  even  when  virtue  goes  out  only  from 
the  hem  of  his  garment.  And  when  he  gives  the  word 
of  healing,  it  is  a  draft,  we  know  not  how^  great,  upon 
his  powers.  In  the  same  way  every  sympathy  requircH 
an  expenditure  of  strength  proportioned  to  the  measure 
of  that  sympathy.  Every  sort  of  tension,  or  attention, 
every  argument,  teaching,  restraint  of  patience,  concern 
of  charity,  is  a  putting  forth  with  cost  to  him,  as  it  is  to 


CHHfST    ASLEEP.  14:1 

US.  And  yet  we  somehow  do  not  quite  believe  it.  We 
read  that  he  goes  long  journeys  on  loot,  but  we  do  nol 
conceive  that  he  is  weary  and  foot-sore  as  we  might  be. 
We  read  that  he  is  actually  "  wearied  with  his  joui-ney," 
and  sits  him  down  by  a  well,  while  his  disciples  go  into 
the  town  to  obtain  food,  but  we  do  not  seem  to  think 
that  he  is  really  way-worn,  or  faint  with  hunger,  in  the 
proper  human  sense  of  these  terms.  We  read  that  he 
actually  "  hungered,"  and  that  having  no  table,  or  sup- 
ply, he  went  aside  to  explore  a  fig  tree,  and  break  his 
morning  fast  on  the  fruit,  but  we  do  not  think  that  such 
a  being  as  he  could  really  care  much  for  a  breakfast. 
He  plainly  declares  his  poverty  and  his  outcast  lot 
on  earth,  by  protesting  that  he  has  not  so  much  as  a 
place  for  comfortable  and  protected  sleep — "the  Son 
of  Man  hath  not  where  to  lay  his  head" — but  we  think 
of  him  probably  as  meaning  only  to  say,  that  he  has 
no  property ;  never  as  testifying  his  privation  of  com- 
fort in  this  first  article  of  civilized  bestowment,  a  shel- 
tered, in-door  sleep — obliged,  like  the  dumb  animals,  to 
sleep  where  he  may ;  in  the  mountains,  on  the  rocks, 
sometimes  under  the  night  rains,  shivering  often  with 
cold. 

Now  all  such  miscolorings  of  his  human  experience 
take  him,  so  far,  out  of  our  tier  of  life,  and  slacken  pro- 
portionally our  sympathy  with  him.  And  they  are 
beautifully  corrected  in  the  night  of  the  boat.  Jesus 
had  become  so  exhausted  that  he  could  not,  in  fact,  sup- 
port himself  an  hour  longer,  and  dropped  immediately 
down,  mind  and  body  together,  into  the  profoundesi 


148  CHRIST    ASLEEP. 

sleep.  Is  it  really  no  true  sleep,  but  only  a  divine  seem 
ing?  Is  he  conscious  in  it?  Does  he  hear  the  storm? 
dues  lie  feel  the  rain?  does  the  plunging  of  the  boat 
startle  him  ?  Ah  !  there  is  reality  enough  here  to  make 
a  sight  how  affecting. 

Blessed  be  thy  rough  sleep,  O  thou  great  benefactor! 
thou  that  art  wearied  and  spent  by  thy  particular 
works  and  the  virtues  that  have  gone  out  of  thee ! 
What  is  it  now  to  thee,  that  the  waters  drench  thee,  and 
the  fierce  tempest  howls  in  tumult  round  thee!  Sleep 
on,  exhausted  goodness,  take  thy  rest  in  the  bosom  of 
the  storm!  for  it  is  thy  Father's  bosom,  where  they  that 
are  weary  for  works  of  love,  ma}^  safely  trust,  and  sink 
so  deeply  down  into  the  abysses  of  sleep,  that  no  thun- 
der even  may  rouse  them. 

Notice  more  particularly  also  the  conditions,  or  be- 
stowments  of  the  sleep  of  Jesus,  and  especially  their 
correspondence  with  his  redemptive  undertaking.  Say- 
ing nothing  of  infants,  which  in  a  certain  proper  sense 
are  called  innocent,  there  have  been  two  examples  of 
full  grown  innocent  sleep  in  our  world ;  that  of  Adam 
in  the  garden,  and  that  of  Christ  the  second  Adam, 
whose  nights  overtook  him,  with  no  place  where  to  be- 
stow himself.  And  the  sleep  of  both,  different  as  pos- 
sible in  the  manner,  is  yet  most  exactly  appropriate,  in 
each,  to  his  particular  work  and  office.  One  is  laid  to 
sleep  in  a  paradise  of  beauty,  breathed  upon  by  the 
flowers,  lulled  by  the  music  of  birds  and  running 
brooks,  shaded  and  sheltered  by  the  overhanging  trees, 
shortly  to  wake  and  look  upon  a  kindred  nature  stand 


CHRIST     ASLEEP.  1-i? 

mg  by,  offei-ed  him  to  be  tbe  partner  and  second  life  of 
his  life.  The  other,  as  pure  and  spotless  as  he,  and 
ripe,  as  he  is  not,  in  the  unassailable  righteousness  of 
character,  tears  himself  away  from  clamorous  multi- 
tudes that  crowd  upon  him  suing  piteously  for  his  care, 
and  drops,  even  out  of  miracle  itself,  on  the  hard  plank 
dock,  or  bottom,  of  a  fisherman's  boat,  and  there,  in 
lightning  and  thunder  and  tempest,  sheeted,  as  it  werCj 
in  the  general  wrath  of  the  waters  and  the  air,  he 
sleeps — only  to  wake  at  the  supplicating  touch  of  fear 
and  distress.  One  is  the  sleep  of  the  world's  father, 
the  other  that  of  the  world's  Redeemer.  One  has  never 
known  as  yet  the  way  of  sin,  the  other  has  come  into 
the  tainted  blood  and  ruin  of  it,  to  bear  and  suffer  un- 
der it,  and  drink  the  cup  it  mixes ;  so  to  still  the  storm 
and  be  a  reconciling  peace.  Both  sleep  in  character. 
Were  the  question  raised  which  of  the  two  will  be  cru- 
cified we  should  have  no  doubt.  Visibly  the  toil-worn 
Jesus,  he  that  takes  the  storm,  curtained  in  by  it  as  by 
the  curse — he  is  the  Redeemer.  His  sleep  agrees  with 
his  manger  birth,  his  poverty,  his  agony,  his  cros^  ;ind 
what  is  more,  as  the  curse  that  is  maddening  in  his  ene- 
mies is  the  retributive  disorder  of  God's  just  penalty 
following  their  sin,  so  the  fury  of  that  night  shadows  it 
all  the  more  fitly,  that  what  he  encounters  in  it  is  the 
wrathful  cast  of  Providence. 

How  fitting  was  jt  also,  both  that  sleep  should  be 
one  of  the  appointments  of  our  nature,  and  that 
Christ  should  be  joined  to  us  in  it.  These  rounds 
of  sleep  are  rounds,   in  fact,   of  bodily  regeneration, 

13*      • 


150  CHKiST     ASLEEP. 

and  tliere  is  no  better  possible  tj'pe  of  the  re,crone 
ration  of  a  soul,  than  tlie  recreating  of  a  bodj,  in  the 
article  of  sieep.  It  was  spent  by  labor.  All  the  func- 
tions were  subsiding  unto  weakness.  The  pulse  ran 
low  and  slow,  the  gait  was  loose,  life  itself  was  ebbing 
consciously,  and  a  general  ferment  of  disability  was,  in 
eveiy  faculty,  from  the  brain  downward.  The  man 
said  he  was  tired,  and  alas!  he  could  do  nothing  in 
himself  to  mend  his  condition.  No  surgeon's  or  physi- 
cian's art  could  put  him  up  again  equipped  for  action. 
But  the  silent  new-creator,  sleep,  could  do  it.  Taking 
down  the  spent  subject  of  consciousness  into  his  awful 
abyss  of  nihility  and  dark  un-reason,  he  will  decom- 
pose him,  so  to  speak,  and  put  him  together  again,  all 
lubricated  for  new  play,  and  send  him  forth  to  his  old 
works,  as  it  were  with  a  new  nature.  We  are  made 
familiar  thus  with  great  internal  changes  and  mighty 
new-creations,  wrought  by  mystic  powers,  whose  methods 
we  can  not  trace.  And  Christ  the  great  moral  Re- 
generator goes  the  same  rounds  with  us  here ;  suflfera 
the  same  exhaustion,  sinks  into  the  same  unconscious- 
ness, rising  to  the  same  newness  of  life — himself  regene- 
rated bodily  with  us,  as  he  fitly  should  be. 

But  as  I  have  spoken  of  the  sleep,  I  must  also  speak 
Df  the  waking ;  or  at  least  I  must  so  far  note  the  man- 
ner of  it,  as  to  draw  from  it  some  deeper  and  more  fit 
conception  of  the  internal  state  of  the  sleep.  It  is  a 
natter  of  common  remark  that  one  who  goes  to  his 
\ight's  rest  charged  with  a  purpose  to  rise  at  some 
pven  signal,  or  at  some  fixed  hour,  will  catch  the  faint- 


CHRIST    ASLEEP.  161 

est  notification,  and  will  almost  notify  himself,  by  a 
kind  of  instinctive  judgment,  or  sense  of  time  kept 
ready  for  the  spring,  even  in  his  unconscious  state.  So 
Christ,  whose  love  is  ready,  and  full-charged  to  catch 
the  faintest  note  of  human  distress,  sleeps  on  through 
all  the  commotion  of  the  elements,  undisturbed;  but  the 
first  cry  of  panic,  "Lord  save  us,  or  we  perish" — 
louder  to  him  than  all  the  tumult  of  the  sky  and  the 
waters — 'Strikes  his  inward  ear  and  brings  him  straight- 
way to  his  feet.  "  Then  he  arose  and  rebuked  the  sea, 
and  there  was  a  great  calm."  The  tempest  met  his  sov- 
ereign look  and  fell  abashed  before  him ;  type  sublime 
of  the  diviner  and  more  difficult  calm  that  he  will  bring 
to  the  storms  of  the  mind.  "  What  manner  of  man," 
said  they,  "  is  this,  that  even  the  winds  and  the  sea  obey 
him?"  A  far  more  wonderful  and  greater,  that  he  can 
speak  to  man's  guilty  feeling,  and  the  turbulent  storms 
of  his  remorse,  and  calm  even  these  into  peace. 

But  observe  specially  his  manner  when  he  wakes. 
It  is  as  if  the  great  commotion  round  him  had  been 
only  a  hymn  lulling  his  slumber.  He  is  not  flurried  or 
startled  by  the  tumult,  shows  no  sign  of  confusion,  or 
alarm.  If  he  sleeps,  a  man,  he  wakes,  a  God.  You 
can  almost  see  by  his  waking,  that  his  dreams  have 
been  thoughts  pure  and  mighty,  coasting  round  the 
horrors  of  a  guilty  wrath-stricken  world  on  errands  of 
love  and  peace.  Indeed  if  it  has  ever  occurred  to  you 
to  wish  that  you  could  once  look  in  upon  the  sleep  of 
Jesus,  and  distinguish  accurately  the  dream-state  of  his 
thought,  even  this  you  may  sufficiently  guess  from  the 


152  CHRIST    ASLiiEP. 

manner  of  his  waking.  How  majestic  the  tranqnillitv 
of  it.  The  tempest  roaring,  the  men  screaming,  the 
vessel  just  ready  to  go  under — and  yet,  if  his  waking 
were  the  sunrise,  it  would  not  be  less  disturbed,  or  less 
flurried  by  excitement.  Could  any  thing  make  it  more 
certain  tha^  his  sleeping  mind  has  been  flowing  serenelyj 
steadied  and  evened  by  a  mighty  peace.  Internal  pu- 
rity, order,  and  harmony  have  been  the  paradise  plainly 
of  his  rest.  In  all  the  wild  confusion  of  the  night  and 
the  sea  without,  his  self-approving  mind  has  been  sleep* 
ing,  as  it  were,  in  a  chiming  of  sweet  melodies. 
Thoughts  vast,  mysterious,  merciful  and  holy,  have 
been  coursing  through  his  unconscious  humanity,  as 
recollections,  or  recurrences  of  habit,  from  his  august 
and  supremely  good  eternity ;  so  that  when  he  wakes, 
at  the  cry  of  his  disciples,  it  is  only  to  say,  "peace,"  to 
the  raging  elements,  from  that  transcendent  peace  that 
was  bathing  his  spirit  within.  It  was  no  such  waking 
as  that  of  the  guilty  mind,  haunted  all  night 'by  spec- 
tres, pursued  by  murderers,  dropping  into  pitfalls, 
throttled  by  serpents  round  the  neck,  crushed  by 
weights  on  the  breast,  scared  by  night-mare  shapes  in 
the  air — ^it  was  out  of  no  such  element  of  guilt,  or  dys- 
peptic torment  that  Jesus  waked.  A  sleep  thus  exer- 
cised prepares  to  fear  and  the  wildness  of  panic — if  the 
house  be  on  iire,  to  leap  into  the  fire,  if  the  ship  be 
sinking,  to  leap  into  the  waters.  A  good  pure  mind 
sleeps  goodness  and  purity,  and  wakes  in  peace ;  a  bad 
sleeps  painfully,  conversing  with  internal  horrors, 
ready,  when  it  wakes,  to  meet  the  images  it  has  seen. 


CHRIST    ASLEEP.  153 

Probably  the  sleep  of  a  bolj  mind  is  even  more  dis- 
tinct from  that  of  a  bad,  than  its  waking  state  is.  be- 
cause, in  sleep,  the  thoughts  run  just  as  the  internal 
habit  makes  them;  the  superintending  will-power 
that  musters,  and  drills,  and  artificially  shapes  them, 
when  awake,  being  now  suspended.  Hence  the  }:)ro- 
found  philosoph}^  as  well  as  the  beauty  of  the  poet's 
prayer — 

"Be  thine  the  sleep  that  throws 
Elysium  o'er  the  soul's  repose, 
Without  a  dream,  save  such  as  wind, 
Like  midnight  angels,  through  the  mind." 

I  am  fully  conscious,  my  friends,  that  I  have  been 
discoursing  on  this  matter  of  the  sleep  of  Christ,  in  a 
somewhat  random  way ;  for  it  is  a  specially  intangible, 
unexplorable  subject.  ISTot  an  unimportant  subject 
either  in  its  theological  implications,  or  its  practical  re- 
lations to  our  Christian  life,  but  one  whose  value  does 
not  so  much  depend  on  our  definite  interior  knowledge 
of  it,  as  in  the  external  and  evident  fact.  It  does  not 
definitely,  or  conclusively  teach,  but  it  suggests  many 
things,  and  things  only  suggested  are  often  of  as  greac 
consequence  to  us  as  things  proved.  Let  us  note  a  few 
of  the  points  suggested.     And 

1.  The  possible,  or  rather  actual  redemption  of  sleep. 
Sleep  is  just  as  truly  fallen  as  humanity  itself.  And 
who  that  knows  the  sleeping  thoughts  of  man,  as  they 
are,  can  have  any  doubt  of  it?  Nay,  who  that  knows 
the  waking  thoughts  of  man,  as  they  ai^e,  can  be  at  all 
ignorant  how  they  will  run  when  he  sleeps?     Gnawed 


154  CHKIST    ASLEEP. 

by  care,  racked  by  ambition,  bittered  by  the  gall  of 
envy,  sensual,  selfish,  fearful,  hateful,  a  prey  to  bad  re- 
sentments, loaded  and  clogged  by  excesses,  filled  with 
hypocondriac  terrors  from  nerves  that  are  shattered  by 
abuse,  what  can  he  be,  in  his  sleep,  but  a  faithful  repre- 
sentative of  what  he  is  awake?  And  hence  it  is  even 
one  of  the  saddest  known  facts  of  the  world,  that  it 
sleeps  badly — one  of  the  most  grateful  and  most  toucli- 
ing  facts  of  the  world,  that  Christ  will  even  be  the  Ee- 
deemer  of  sleep.  He  does  not  of  course  offer  himself 
to  the  state  of  sleep,  for  it  would  only  be  absurd ;  but 
he  does  undertake  the  regeneration  of  the  soul  in  char- 
acter, and  that  includes  every  thing ;  for  when  the  soul's 
fearful  stricture  is  taken  off  by  love,  when  it  is  rested 
in  faith,  fortified  by  self-government,  cleared  by  tem- 
perance and  spiritual  chastity,  cheered  by  hope,  it  falls 
into  chime,  inevitably,  with  the  divine  order;  so  that, 
when  the  will  is  suspended,  as  in  sleep,  its  internal 
movement  flows  on  still  in  the  divine  order,  meeting 
only  grateful  images  and  thoughts  of  peace.  Hence 
partly  it  was  that  so  much  was  made  of  their  dreams, 
])y  holy  men  of  old.  It  was  no  superstition  of  theirs — 
they  had  only  come,  so  consciously,  into  the  divine 
order  of  health  and  sanctity,  that  when  they  went  tc 
their  sleep,  they  seemed  even  to  be  yielding  themselves 
ap  to  a  sanctified  flow  of  the  mind,  and  to  the  unob- 
structed sway  of  a  really  harmonic  movement  with 
God.  Nor  is  any  thing  more  certain  than  that  souls, 
advancing  in  holiness,  will  advance  proportionally  in 
the  quality  of  their  sleep.     As  they  are  being  redeemed 


CHRIST    ASLEEP.  155 

thfjnselves.  so  it  is  a  part  of  their  divine  privilege  that 
their  sleep  is  also.  Accordingly  it  is  often  reported  by 
such  as  have  cleared  the  bondage  of  nature,  and  risen 
to  a  specially  high  pitch  of  intimacy  with  God,  that 
they  find  a  remarkable  change  in  their  sleeping  thoughts. 
None  but  Christ  can  sleep  the  sleep  of  Christ,  and  they 
that  are  nearest  to  him  in  spirit  will  as  certainly  be  most 
like  him,  in  the  peace  of  their  unconscious  hours.  Their 
very  redemption  is,  according  to  its  measure,  the  re- 
<lemption  of  their  sleep. 

2.  It  is  another  point  suggested  here,  that  there  is  a 
right  and  wrong  sleep,  as  well  as  a  right  and  wrong 
waking  state.  Sleep  is  the  subsiding  of  soul  and  body 
into  nature's  lap,  or  the  lap  of  Providence,  to  recruit 
exhaustion,  and  to  be  refitted  for  life's  works.  But 
what  right  has  any  one  to  be  refitted  for  wrong ;  and 
above  all  refitted,  by  the  help  of  Providence?  Such 
sleep  is  a  fraud,  and  the  fund  of  new  exertion  obtained 
by  it  is  actually  stolen.  Sleep  was  never  appointed  by 
God,  to  refit  wrong-doers  and  disobedient  children,  and 
enable  them  to  be  more  efficient  against  him.  Their 
very  sleep  they  go  to,  therefore,  as  a  crime,  and  the 
dark  shadow  of  guilt  curtains  in  their  rest.  0  ye  days- 
men, that  a  few  hours  hence,  when  your  fund  is  spent, 
will  go  to  your  sleep  to  be  refitted  for  to-morrow,  is  it 
to  be  a  lying  down  upon  wrong,  upon  sin,  or  will  it  be 
upon  right?— there  is  a  very  serious  meaning  in  the  ques- 
tion. Will  you  suffer  it  to  rise  and  be  distinctly  met, 
when  your  head  meets  your  pillow  ?  How  very  hard  a  pil 
low  would  it  be  to  many,  if  they  took  it  understandingly 


156  CHRIST    ASLEEP. 

Observe,  meantime,  how  free  a  guarantee  Christ  givea 
to  sleep,  when  it  is  right  sleep.  There  have  been  miih 
titudes  of  devotees  under  the  Christian  name,  that  made 
a  great  merit  of  withholding  sleep,  in  the  rigid  observ- 
ance of  long  vigils;  as  if  the  reduction  of  the  soul's 
quantity,  and  the  obfuscation  of  its  functions,  were  tlie 
same  thing  to  God  as  advancing  in  holiness.  These 
vigils  are  about  the  most  irrational,  most  barren  kind 
of  fast,  that  was  ever  invented ;  for  the  reason  that, 
instead  of  clearing,  or  girding  up  the  mind,  they  even 
propose  to  make  a  penance  of  stupor  and  lethargy.  It 
is  a  great  mistake  also  of  some  that  they  are  jealous  of 
sleep,  and  have  it  as  a  point  of  merit  to  shorten  the 
hours,  by  a  regularly  enforced  anticipation  of  the  dawn. 
Any  such  rule  for  the  reduction  of  quantity  is  doubtful. 
A  much  better  rule  respects  the  quality.  Make  it  your 
duty  to  prepare  a  Christian  sleep ;  that  kind  which  the 
exhaustion  of  a  righteous,  or  right-minded  industry 
requires,  and  then  you  may  know  that  Christ  your  mas- 
ter is  with  you.  It  is  remarkable  that  he  actually  tore 
himself  away  from  even  his  healings,  and  from  vast  mul- 
titudes of  people  crying  piteously  for  help.  He  did  not 
reason  as  some  very  good  men  often  do,  that  he  must 
go  on,  pressed  by  such  calls  of  mercy,  till  he  could 
stand  no  longer.  He  was  famished  with  hunger,  his 
strength  was  gone,  and  enough,  to  him,  was  enough. 
What  merit  could  it  be,  if  he  should  continue  into  the 
night,  and  falling  at  last  on  the  ground  for  faintness,  be 
carried  off  in  that  weak  plight,  to  be  himself  commise 
rated  in  turn  ?     He  plucked  himself  away,  therefore,  (led 


CHRIST    ASLEEP.  157 

to  the  boat,  and  casting  himsell  down,  fell,  at  once,  into 
the  soundest  sleep.  So  when  a  man's  capacity,  full 
spent  in  good,  comes  to  its  limit,  and  conscience  audita 
the  reckoning  of  its  hours,  to  fall  back  into  God's  sole 
ke<-ping,  and  be  recruited  by  unconscious  rest  in  his 
bosom,  is  the  true  Christly  sleep,  at  once  a  natural  be- 
stowment,  and  a  supernatural  gift.  Be  it  in  a  palace  or 
a  hovel,  be  it  on  the  land  or  on  the  sea,  be  it  in  out- 
ward calm  or  storm,  be  it  with  man's  approbation  or 
without,  the  resting  place  is  glorious,  the  rest  itself  a 
baptism  of  peace — "  God  giveth  his  beloved  sleep." 

3.  The  associations  connected  with  the  sleep  of  Jesus 
induce  a  very  peculiar  sense  of  his  nearness  to  us  in  it. 
Only  to  have  slept  in  some  fisherman's  hut,  or  about 
some  hunter's  fire,  in  company  with  a  noted  or  publicly 
known  person,  gives  a  certain  familiar  kind  of  pleasure 
to  our  remembrance  of  him.  In  the  same  way,  when  the 
Son  of  God  is  joined  to  us  here  in  a  common  sleep,  sub- 
siding nightly  into  unconsciousness  with  us,  under  the 
same  heaven,  a  most  strange  association  of  nearness  is 
awakened  by  the  conjunction.  In  our  very  proper  en- 
deavor to  exalt  God,  and  give  him  the  due  honors  of 
majesty,  we  commonly  push  him  away,  just  so  far,  into 
distance ;  we  seat  him  on  the  circle  of  the  firmament, 
we  lift  him,  not  above  the  clouds  only,  but  even  above 
the  stars;  scarcely  content,  till  we  have  found  some 
altitude  for  him,  higher  than  all  points  visible,  and 
even  outside  of  the  creation  itself.  When,  therefore  he 
comes  down,  as  the  incarnate  One,  to  be  a  man  with  us, 
tired  and  spent  as  we  by  life's  toils,  when  he  lies  so 

U 


158  CHRIS  TASLEEP. 

luimbly  down  that  even  the  waters  of  a  lake  some  h"an- 
drecls  of  feet  below  sea  level,  dash  over  him,  and  there 
sleeps,  even  as  a  soldier,  or  a  sailor  might,  our  feeling  is 
in  a  strange  maze  of  tenderness.  Our  God  is  so  nigh, 
our  glorious  tent-mate  in  a  guise  so  gentle,  that  we  come 
to  look  upon  him  in  his  divine  sleep,  more  tenderly 
tlian  we  could  even  in  the  waking  mercies  and  chari- 
ties of  his  life.  The  very  heaven  of  sky  and  star, 
that  ceils  the  august  chamber  of  his  sleep,  is  more  sanc- 
tified from  underneath,  than  before,  it  was  from  above. 
The  world  is  another  world — we  are  other  ourselves. 
0  this  nearness,  this  daring  familiarity,  shall  I  say,  of 
God !  When  he  says  so  evidently  in  this  dear,  tender, 
mystery,  "come,"  canst  thou,  guilty,  fearing  spirit, 
reject  an  approach  so  lowly  and  so  lovely!  And  thou 
disciple  too,  whose  faith  is  clouded,  and  upon  whom  the 
storms  of  the  mind,  as  well  as  the  less  terrible  storms 
of  Providence,  are  loosed,  think  it  not  strange  or  dis- 
heartening, that  thy  Master  sleeps — tender  and  great 
sign  is  it  for  you  that  he  does — only  go  to  him  and  say 
"Master  I  perish,"  and  have  it  also  to  say,  as  the 
storm  settles  forthwith  into  peace,  "What  manner  of 
man  is  this?" 

Once  more  the  analogies  of  the  sleep  of  Jesus  sug- 
gest the  Christian  right,  and  even  duty,  of  those  relaxa- 
tions, which  are  necessary,  at  times,  to  loosen  the  strain 
of  life  and  restore  the  freshness  of  its  powers.  Christ, 
as  we  have  seen,  actually  tore  himself  away  from  multi- 
tudes waiting  to  be  healed,  that  he  might  refit  himself 
by   sleep.     He   had  a   way   too  of   retiring  often  to 


CHRIST    ASLEEP.  159 

mountain  solitudes  and  by -places  on  the  sea,  partly 
for  the  resting  of  his  exhausted  energies.  Sometimes 
also  he  called  his  disciples  off  in  this  manner,  saying — 
"come  ye  yourselves  apart  into  a  desert  place,  and  rest 
awhile,"  Not  that  every  disciple  is,  of  course,  to  re- 
tire into  solitudes  and  desert  places,  when  he  wants 
recreation.  Jesus  was  obliged  to  seek  such  places,  to 
escape  the  continual  press  of  the  crowd.  In  our  day,  a 
waking  rest  of  travel,  change  of  scene,  new  society,  is 
permitted,  and  when  it  is  a  privilege  assumed  by  faith- 
ful men,  to  recruit  them  for  their  works  of  duty,  they 
have  it  by  God's  sanction,  and  even  as  a  part  of  the 
sound  economy  of  Jife.  Going  after  a  turn  of  gaiety  or 
dissipation,  not  after  Christian  rest,  or  going  after  rest 
only  because  you  are  wearied  and  worried  by  selfish 
overdoings,  troubled  and  spent  b}^  toils  that  serve  an 
idol,  is  a  very  different  matter.  The  true  blessing  of 
rest  is  on  you,  only  when  you  carry  a  good  mind  with 
you,  able  to  look  back  on  works  of  industry  and  faith- 
fulness, suspended  for  a  time,  that  you  may  do  them 
more  effectively.  Going  in  such  a  frame,  you  shall  rest 
awhile,  as  none  but  such  can  rest.  Nature  will  dress 
herself  in  beauty  to  your  eye,  calm  thoughts  will  fan 
you  with  their  cooling  breath,  and  the  joy  of  the  Lord 
will  be  strength  to  your  wasted  brain  and  body.  Ah, 
there  is  no  luxury  of  indulgence  to  be  compared  with 
this  true  Christian  rest !  Money  will  not  buy  it,  shows 
and  pleasures  can  not  woo  its  approach,  no  conjuration 
of  art,  or  contrived  gaiety,  will  compass  it  even  for  an 
hour ;  but  it  settles,  like  dew,  unsought,  upon  the  faith- 


160  CHRIST    ASLEEP. 

ful  servant  of  duty,  bathing  his  weariness  and  recruit 
Lng  his  powers  for  a  new  engagement  in  his  caUmg. 
Go  ye  thus  apart  and  rest  awhile  if  God  permits. 

But  if  you  go  to  kill  time,  or  to  cheat  the  ennui  of 
an  idle  life,  or  to  drown  your  self-remembrance  in 
giddy  excesses,  or  to  coax  into  composure  nervous  en- 
ergies eaten  out  by  the  passion  or  flustered  by  tho 
ventures  of  gain,  there  goes  an  enemy  with  you  that 
will  bitterly  mock  you,  giving  you  the  type,  in  what  you 
seek  but  nowhere  find,  of  that  more  awful  disappoint- 
ment that  awaits  the  rest  of  eternity.  What,  in  fact,  are 
you  dying  of  now,  but  of  rest  that  is  no  rest — the  inanity 
of  ease  and  idleness,  the  insipid  bliss  of  cloyed,  over- 
worn pleasures,  nights  that  add  weariness  to  the  wea- 
riness of  the  days,  sabbaths  of  God  that  are  bores  and 
not  restins^s  under  the  fourth  commandment.  0  I 
would  rather  sleep  in  a  fisherman's  boat,  in  thunder  and 
tempest  and  rain,  exhausted  by  a  da}^  of  useful,  Christly 
work,  only  dreaming  there  of  the  good  rest  to  come 
than  to  never  know  the  exhaustions  of  true  industry, 
and  spend  life,  lolling  in  equipages,  and  courting  pleaS' 
ures  that  will  not  come !  For  what  too  are  such  ready 
dying  in  their  pampered  bodies  and  worn  out  splen 
dors,  but  to  turn  away  heart-sick,  as  here,  from  the 
golden  sands  of  the  river,  and,  chill  with  nervous  ague, 
from  the  shades  of  the  trees,  of  life.  Blessed  are  the 
dead  that  die  in  the  Lord ;  for  they  rest  from  their 
LABORS.  Blessed  only  they;  for  where  there  is  no 
labor,  spending  life's  capacity  for  God,  there  is,  of  couise, 
no  rest. 


VIll. 

CHRISTIAN  ABILITY. 

''^Behold  also  the  ships,  luliich  though  they  he  so  greats 
and  are  driven  of  fierce  winds,  yet  are  they  turned  about 
with  a  very  small  helm,  whithersoever  the  governor  listeth.^^ 
James  iii.  4. 

The  ships  that  were  "so  great"  in  former  days,  were, 
in  fact,  scarcely  more  than  cock-boats,  or  small  coasters, 
scraping  round  the  shores  of  the  inland  seas ;  whereas, 
now,  what  we  call  the  great  ships  are  big  enough  to 
store  in  their  hold,  a  whole  armed  fleet  of  the  ancient 
time,  vessels  and  men  together ;  and  these  huge  bulks 
strike  out  on  the  broad  oceans  defying  their  storms,  yet 
still  turned  about,  as  before,  with  a  very  small  helm, 
whithersoever  the  helmsman  will.  There  he  stands  at 
his  post,  a  single  man,  scarcely  more  than  a  fly  that  has 
lighted  on  the  immense  .bulk  of  the  vessel,  having  a 
sm.all  city  of  people  and  their  goods  in  the  world  of 
timber  under  him,  and  perhaps  with  only  one  hand, 
turning  gently  his  lever  of  wood,  or  nicely  guaging  the 
motion  of  his  wheel,  steers  along  its  steady  track  the 
mountain  mass  of  the  ship,  turning  it  always  to  its 
course,  even  as  he  would  an  arrow  to  its  mark. 

Dropping  now  the  particular  reference  had  by  our 
14* 


162  CHRISTIAN    ABILITY. 

apostle,  in  his  illustration,  to  the  tongue,  or  the  power 
of  tlie  tongue,  I  shall  take  it  simply  as  an  instance  or 
exhibition  of  what  is  more  general,  viz.,  the  fact — Thai 
man  tarns  about  every  ihing^  handles  all  heaviest  Lalks^ 
'inacters  all  hardest  difficulties  in  the  same  way;  that  is^ 
hy  using  a  small  jiower  so  as  to  get  the  operation  of  apow^r 
(greater  titan  his  own.  He  gets  an  immense  ability  thus, 
where  his  sufficiency  is  most  restricted,  and  his  Chris- 
tian ability  is  of  just  this  kind.  We  have  no  power  to 
handle  ships  at  sea  by  their  bulk ;  as  little  have  we  to 
do  or  become,  in  the  grand  whole  of  character,  what 
God  requires  of  us.  The  soul  is  a  magnitude  more 
massive  than  any  ship,  and  the  storms  it  encounters  are 
wilder  than  those  of  the  sea.  And  yet  there  are  small 
helms  given  us,  by  which  we  are  able  always  to  steer  it 
triumphantly  on,  to  just  the  good  we  seek  and  the  high- 
est we  can  even  conceive. 

In  this  mode  of  statement  the  very  supposition  is, 
^ou  perceive,  that  we  have  no  ability  in  ourselves,  more 
than  simply  to  turn  ourselves  into  the  track  of  another, 
more  sufficient  power,  and  so  to  have  it  upon  ns. 
Helms  do  not  impel  ships,  and  if  there  were  no  other 
kind  of  power  moving  on  the  sea,  they  would  only 
swing  dead -logged  upon  the  waters,  making  never  a 
voyage.  So  the  power  we  have  as  persons,  in  religion, 
is  not  a  power  of  self-impulsion,  but  only  a  steering 
power ;  though  it  is  a  very  great  power  at  that.  For 
when  we  so  use  it  as  to  hold  ourselves  fairly  to  God'a 
operation,  as  we  hold  a  ship  to  the  winds,  that  is  suffi- 
cient, that  will  do  ever}^  thing,  turning  even  our  impoa- 


CHRISTIAN    ABILITY.  16H 

sibles  themselves  into  victory.  Our  inability  to  regen- 
erate, or  new-create  ourselves  can  not  be  too  strongly 
stated.  As  little  can  our  ability,  when  regarding  the 
fair  adjustment  and  perpetual  offering  of  ourselves  to 
God's  operation. 

Glance  a  moment  here  at  the  analogies  of  our  phys- 
ical experience.  Great,  overwhelmingly  great,  as  the 
forces  and  weights  of  nature  are,  what  do  we  accomplish 
more  easily  than  to  turn  about  their  whole  body  and 
bring  them  into  manageable  service  ? — doing  it  always 
by  some  adjustment,  or  mode  of  address,  which  ac- 
knowledges their  superior  force.  We  do  not  manage 
a  horse  by  the  collar,  but  by  the  bit.  We  do  not  raise 
the  winds  that  serve  us  by  blowing  on  the  mill  our- 
selves, but  we  let  them  blow  as  they  list,  only  setting 
the  fans  of  the  wheel  to  get  advantage  of  them.  The 
cliffs  of  rocks  we  do  not  tear  open  with  our  hands,  but 
we  drill  them  and,  by  merely  touching  a  little  gunpow- 
der with  a  spark  of  fire,  as  we  know  how,  let  that  blow 
them  into  the  air  by  a  force  of  its  own,  repeating  the 
operation  till  we  have  literally  removed  mountains. 
Our  many  thousand  wheels  of  manufacture  we  do  not 
turn  by  our  arms,  but  we  take  the  rivers,  flowing  as 
they  will,  and  let  them  flow,  only  cutting  sluices  for 
them  and  setting  wheels  before  them,  or  under  them; 
whei'cupon  they  turn  producers  for  us  and  even  buildcns 
of  cities.  We  have  a  way  too  of  taking  that  most 
florce  and  dreadful  power  called  steam  into  service  and 
nxanagement — doing  it  never  by  gathering  it  up  into  our 
arms  and  holding  it  in  compression,  but  by  raising  it  ic 


164  CHRISTIAN    ABILITY. 

heated  folds  of  iron,  and  turning  it  through  cocks  and 
conduit  pipes,  into  points  of  lifting  or  expansion, 
where  it  does  the  work  of  many  winds  and  waters,  con* 
quering  in  fact  both  oceans  and  their  storms.  The 
lightnings  we  do  not  catch  by  the  chase  and  whip  into 
service,  to  be  our  couriers,  but  we  just  give  them  a  wire 
and  they  run,  of  their  own  accord,  upon  our  errands, 
true  and  swift  as  we  could  wish.  We  bring  in  thus  all 
the  great  powers  of  nature  and  set  them  to  doing  almost 
miracles  for  us,  by  only  just  offering  ourselves  to  them, 
in  a  way  that  steers  them  into  our  service.  The  great 
art  now  of  all  arts,  that  which  is  changing  and  new- 
creating  the  modern  world,  is,  at  bottom  and  in  some 
real  sense,  a  steering  art.  All  our  machineries — and 
where  is  the  end  of  them? — are  only  so  many  adjust- 
ments, by  which  the  great  bulks  and  masses  of  force  in 
nature  are  steered  into  methods  of  use.  Even  our  rail- 
roads, which  are  revolutionizing,  in  a  sense,  all  the 
values  and  powers  of  the  world,  are  in  fact  scarcely 
more  than  adjustments  for  the  steering  of  motions  and 
forces.  The  very  skill  we  study  most,  and  most  contin- 
ually practice  is  that  of  address  to  nature ;  finding  how, 
or  by  what  means  and  arrangements,  we  may  get  the 
forces  of  the  creation  to  exert  themselves  in  our  behalf. 
Our  ability  thus  amplified  stops  at  almost  nothing. 
Neither  have  we  any  difficulty  in  regard  to  this  kind 
of  ability,  as  if  it  were  no  ability  at  all.  It  is  precisely 
that  in  one  view,  and  in  another  it  is  all  ability.  Hav- 
ing got  some  force  of  nature,  be  it  this  or  that,  into  use, 
we  have  it  even  as  a  property,  we  make  real  estate 


CHKISTiAN    ABILITY'.  165 

of  it,  buy  it  and  sell  it  and,  wlien  we  have  it  not 
set  our  wheels  o^  motijn,  raise  our  cjdinders  and  fires, 
to  oDtain  it.  And  it  never  once  occurs  to  us  that  tlie 
weakness  we  thereby  confess  in  ourselves  is  any  real 
inability,  or  creates  any  shade  of  discouragement  to 
effort.  On  the  contrary  we  call  it  our  great  power  over 
nature,  and  we  have  courage  given  us  in  it  to  attempt 
almost  any  thing. 

Prepared  by  such  analogies,  our  dependence,  in  the  mat- 
ter of  religion,  ought  to  create  no  speculative  difficulty, 
and  I  really  do  not  believe  that  it  does,  unless  it  be  in  some 
few  exceptional  cases.  There  used  to  be  much  debate 
over  the  question  of  ability  and  dependence,  but  as  far 
as  my  knowledge  extends,  such  difficulties  are  not  felt 
any  longer  as  they  once  were.  And  yet  we  seem  to 
have  as  much  difficulty  as  ever  in  making  that  practical 
adjustment  of  ourselves  to  God,  which  is  necessary  in 
•Any  and  every  true  act  of  dependence. 

Thus  a  great  man}^,  admitting  quietly  the  fact  of 
some  such  ability  as  makes  them  responsible,  take  it 
really  upon  themselves  to  do,  out  and  out  and  by  their 
own  force,  all  v'hich  they  are  responsible  for.  It  is  as  if 
they  were  setting  themselves  to  steady  and  move  on  the 
general  bulk  of  the  ship,  seizing  it  by  its  body.  What 
tremendous  weights  and  fearfully  complex  forces  the 
80ul  contains,  and  how  many  and  fierce  the  storms  may 
be  that  have  broken  loose  in  it,  under  the  retributive 
damage  of  sin,  they  do  not  sufficiently  consider,  daring 
even  to  hope  tha,t  they  can  gather  it  back  into  the  sweet 
unity  of  order  and  health,  by  their  own  self-governing 


166  CHRISTIAN    ABILITY. 

power.  It  turns  out  of  course,  since  they  can  govern 
but  one  thing  at  a  time,  that  while  they  are  governing 
that  one,  a  hundred  others  are  breaking  loose — and  all 
these  lusting,  rasping,  raging,  tumultuous,  wild  forces 
of  evil,  driving  like  fierce  winds  and  tossing  like  moun- 
tain seas,  are  too  much,  of  course,  for  any  human 
pi)wer  of  self-government. 

Besides  we  have  no  capacity,  under  the  natural  laws 
of  the  soul,  as  a  self-governing  creature,  to  govern  suc- 
cessfully any  thing,  except  indirectly,  that  is  by  a 
process  of  steering.  We  can  not  govern  a  bad  passion 
or  grudge  by  choking  it  down,  or  master  a  wild  ambi- 
tion by  willing  it  away,  or  stop  the  trains  of  bad 
thoughts  by  a  direct  fight  with  them — which  fight 
would  only  keep  them  still  m  mind  as  before — all  that 
we  can  do  in  such  matters,  in  a  w^ay  of  self-regulation, 
is  to  simply  steer  the  mind  off  from  its  grudges,  ambi- 
tions, bad  thoughts,  by  getting,  it  occupied  with  good 
and  pare  objects  that  w^ork  a  diversion ;  and  then  the 
danger  is — only  working  thus  upon  ourselves — that  we 
shortly  forget  ourselves ;  when  the  sky  is  filled,  again, 
of  course,  with  the  old  tumult.  We  ourselves,  acting 
on  ourselves,  institute  harmony  in  the  soul  and  estab- 
lish heaven's  order  in  its  working? — why  if  all  its  many 
thousanxl  parts  and  forces  were  put  in  a  perfect  military 
subjection  to  the  will,  we  could  not  even  then  conceive 
the  state  of  internal  order  and  harmony  accurately 
enough  to  command  them  into  their  fit  places  and 
functions. 

Furthermore,  if  we  could,  our  self-government  woulJ 


CHRISTIAN     A  13 II.  ITT.  107 

not  bo  the  state  of  religion,  or  bring  iis  any  one  of  its 
blessed  incidents.  The  soul,  as  a  religious  creature,  is 
put  in  affiance,  by  a  fixed  necessit}^  of  its  nature,  with 
God.  Having  broken  this  bond  in  its  sin  it  comes  back 
in  religion  to  become  what  it  inwardly  longs  for — re- 
stored to  God,  filled  with  God's  inspirations,  made  con- 
scious of  God.  And  this  is  its  regeneration ;  a  grand, 
all-dominating  change  that  supposes  a  new  revelation 
of  God  in  it,  and  is  called,  in  that  view,  its  being  born 
of  God.  Can  it  then  reveal  God  in  itself  by  its  own 
self-regulative  force?  Can  it,  in  fact,  accomplish  any 
one  thing  that  is  distinctively  religious — the  state  of 
peace,  the  state  of  liberty,  the  state  of  light,  the  state 
of  assurance?  "Impossible"  is  the  word  written  over 
against  every  character  and  condition  of  good  it  can,  as 
a  religious  nature,  attempt.  And  yet  these  impossibles 
we  can  easily  and  surely  master,  by  only  bringing  our- 
selves into  the  range  of  God's  operations.  The  helm- 
power  only  is  ours,  the  executive  is  God's.  He  can 
govern  the  soul,  its  grudges,  lusts,  ambitions,  bad 
thoughts,  all  at  once.  He  knows  the  state  of  harmony 
internally  and  can  settle  us  in  it  as  a  state  of  rest.  He 
has  inspirations,  when  he  gets  into  our  love,  that  make 
all  duty  free.  He  can  settle  assurance  and  confidence 
in  us  He  can  be  peace  in  the  sealing  of  his  forgive- 
ness upon  us.  Eevealing  himself  in  the  soul,  he  can 
fill  its  horizon  with  light.  He  can  be  angelic  perfec- 
tion  in  us,  he  can  be  purity,  heaven,  in  his  own  fit  time 
and  order. 

What  is  wanted  therefore  in  us,  and  nothing  more  is 


168  CHRISTIAN    ABILITF. 

possible  for  us,  is  the  using  of  our  small  helms  so  as  to 
make  our  appeal  to  God's  operation.  Self-impeding, 
self-renovating  power  we  have  none;  but  the  helm 
power  we  have,  and  if  we  use  it  rightly,  it  will  put  us 
in  the  range  of  all  power,  even  the  mighty  power  of 
God.  Hence  the  great  call  of  the  scripture  salvation 
is,  "come  unto  mo,"  "come  unto  God;"  because  the 
coming  unto  God  is  the  coming  unto  God's  operation, 
and  the  receiving  of  what  his  divine  power  will  work 
in  the  soul,  when  he  is  templed  in  it.  Hence  also  the 
call  to  renounce  our  own  will,  to  renounce  the  world, 
to  renounce  eternally  sin  ;  because  whoever  lives  in  his 
own  will — lives  for  the  world  as  his  end,  lives  apart 
from  all  homage  to  God — can  not  be  in  God's  will,  or 
come  at  all  into  God's  operation.  In  the  same  way 
there  must  be  a  clearing  of  a  thousand  particular  and 
even  smallest  things  that  will  steer  off  the  soul  from 
God.  When  the  helm  of  a  ship  gets  foul,  or  so  tangled 
in  ropes,  or  weeds,  that  it  can  not  traverse  freely,  it  will 
even  steer  the  ship  into  wreck  instead  of  holding  it  to 
its  course.  So  exactly  it  is  with  the  soul.  An  old 
grudge  adhered  to  steers  it  forever  away  from  God. 
Any  mode  of  profit,  whose  fairness  or  beneficence  to 
men  we  distrust,  but  will  not  give  up,  will  do  the  same. 
Adhering  only  to  a  party  that  we  begin  to  doubt  the 
merit  of,  takes  away  the  possibility  even  of  confidence 
toward  God.  In  the  same  way,  the  dread  only  of 
being  singular,  the  going  after  popularity,  the  fear  of 
men's  opinions,  the  cringing  of  the  soul  to  men's  fash- 
ions— all  these  give  over  the  helm  of  one's  life  to  others, 


CHRISTIAN    ABILITY.  169 

that  they  may  turn  it  where  they  will — always  away,  of 
course,  and  still  away  from  God.  Every  such  thing 
must  of  necessity  be  renounced  or  even  denounced,  as 
we  hope  to  come  into  God's  operation,  or  come  unto 
God.  Ko  soul  is  born  of  God  till  it  comes  into  his 
very  mind  and  offers  itself,  as  a  really  transj)arent  me- 
dium, to  his  light.  When  the  helm  is  practically  set, 
honestly  guaged  for  God,  God  wdll  be  a  perfectly  open 
harbor  to  it,  but  how  can  it  think  of  entering  either 
this  or  any  other  harbor,  when  it  is  really  steering  it- 
self away? 

Hence  also  that  very  positive  matter  called  faith,  or 
the  fixed  demand  of  it  as  a  condition  of  salvation. 
The  conception  of  it  is,  not  that  we  are  to  do  or  attempt 
doing  something  great  upon  ourselves — regenerating 
ourselves,  sanctifjdng  ourselves.  All  that  we  can  do  is 
to  simply  trust  ourselves  over  to  God,  and  so  to  bring  our- 
selves into  the  range  of  his  divine  operation.  In  one 
view,  or  considered  as  including  what  God  does  for  it 
and  by  it,  faith  it  is  very  true  is  every  thing — the 
whole  substance  and  bulk  and  body  of  holiness ;  but 
considered  in  a  manner  most  analytical  and  closest  to 
us,  it  is  our  act  alone  and  a  very  small  one  at  that,  to 
be  the  determining  helm  of  a  new  life.  Doubtless  faith, 
again,  is  somehow  wrought  by  God,  but  it  is  none  the 
less  acted  by  us,  being  the  sublimest  and  completest 
mortal  act  of  dependence  possible ;  in  which  the  soul, 
ceasing  from  itself,  turns  away  to  God — comes  unto  God, 
Whereupon  as  God  meets  it,  accepts  it,  and  pours  him- 
self into  its  open  gates,  it  is  filled   with  God's  inspira- 

15 


170  CHRISTIAN    ABILITY. 

tions  and  the  working  of  bis  mighty  power.  Now  the 
life  proceeds  again  from  God  as  it  ought,  being  insti- 
gated inwardly,  by  his  divine  movement.  Peace,  lib* 
erty,  light  are  its  element;  it  is  even  conscious  of 
God. 

All  human  doings  therefore,  as  regards  the  soul's  re- 
generation, or  the  beginning  of  a  new  life,  amount  to 
nothing  more  than  the  right  use  of  a  power  that  steers  it 
into  the  sphere  of  God's  operation.  And  the  reason  . 
why  so  many  fail  here  is,  that  they  undertake  to  do 
the  work  themselves,  heaving  away  spasmodically  to  lift 
themselves  over  the  unknown  crisis  by  main  strength — 
as  if  seizing  the  ship  by  its  mast,  or  the  main  bulk  of 
its  body,  they  were  going  to  push  it  on  through  the 
voyage  themselves !  Whereas  it  is  the  work  of  God, 
and  not  in  any  other  sense  their  own,  than  that  coming 
in, to  God,  b}^  a  total  trust  in  him,  they  are  to  have  it 
in  God's  working.  Let  the  wind  blow  where  it  lis- 
teth — God  will  take  care  of  that — they  have  only  to 
put  themselves  to  it,  and  the  impossible  is  done. 

In  just  this  way  also  it  is  that  so  many  miscarriages 
occur,  after  conversion.  Kothing  was  necessarj^  to  pre- 
vent them,  but  simply  to  carry  a  steady  helm  in  life's 
duties.  Thus  there  will  be  some  who  get  tired  of  the 
helm ;  to  be  always  at  their  post,  praying  always,  guag- 
ing  their  motions  carefully  to  meet  their  new  conditions, 
keeping  their  courses  set  exactly  by  their  conscience, 
and  allowing  no  slack  times  of  indulgence,  becomes 
wearisome  as  certainly  as  they  lose  out  the  Spirit  that 
lljakes  exactness  libeity,  and  then  they  take  away  iheii 


CHRESTIAN    ABILITY.  171 

hand,  as  it  were  to  rest  themselves.  Some  too  will 
have  a  way  of  persuading  themselves  that  the  houI  will 
get  on  w^ell  enough,  at  least  for  a  time,  by  the  impulse 
it  is  under  already  and  so  far  will  consent  to  do  what 
no  sailoi  ever  dares,  let  the  ship  steer  itself;  whereupon, 
when  it  begins  to  wdieel,  and  plunge,  and  go  just  no- 
where, as  regards  the  voj^age,  tlie}^  begin  also  to  cry, 
"impossible!"  "how  can  we  stop  it!"  "how  can  we  turn 
it  back !"  They  imagine  some  great  fatality,  impossible 
to  be  controlled,  when  in  fact  the  only  fatality  suffered 
is  that  of  a  ship  that  can  not  keep,  or  get  back  into,  its 
course  without  beino-  steered. 

At  the  same  time  it  must  not  be  forgotten,  that  mul- 
titudes of  disciples  fall  out  of  course,  for  no  less  posi- 
tive reason  than  that  they  actually  steer  themselves  out 
of  God's  operation.  One  goes  into  an  employment  the 
right  of  which  he  is  not  sufficiently  snre  of  to  have  a 
good  conscience  in  it.  Another  galls  himself  in  a  right 
employment,  by  the  consciously  wrong  manner  in 
which  he  carries  it  on.  A  third  goes  into  company  that 
consciously  does  him  injury,  yet  still  continues  to  go. 
A  male  disciple  turns  himself  to  the  pursuit  of  honor, 
a  female  disciple  to  the  worship  of  fashion ;  one  to  the 
shows  of  condition,  the  other  to  the  more  personal  van- 
ities of  dress,  Thousands  again  will  let  their  lusts  and 
jippetites  get  above  their  affections,  their  bodies  above 
their  minds.  Some  are  nursing  their  prido,  and  some 
their  envy,  driven  of  fierce  winds  by  the  gustiness  of 
one,  eaten  out  and  barnacled  by  the  water  vermin  of 
the  other.     These  now    and  such  like  are   the    small 


172  CHRISTIAN     ABILITY. 

helms,  wliicli  all  you  keep  turning,  who  turn  yourselves 
away.  You  ask  why  it  is,  half  grievingly,  that  you  fal] 
away  from  God  so  often,  and  loose  the  savor  of  his 
friendship  so  easily?  But  the  very  simple  fact,  if  yon 
could  see  it,  is  that  you  really  steer  yourselves  awa}^ ; 
allowing  yourselves  in  modes  of  life  that  even  turn  you 
off  from  God,  as  by  your  own  act.  You  not  only  for- 
get, or  neglect,  the  small  helms  of  guidance,  but  you 
actually  turn  them  the  wrong  way — only  making  now 
and  then  some  clumsy  effort,  as  you  wake  up  in 
pauses  of  concern,  to  do  some  mightj^  thing  by  your 
will ;  in  which  you  virtually  attempt  to  handle  the  ship 
by  its  body — sighing  piously  in  mock  resignation,  as 
you  fail,  over  the  inevitable  fact  of  your  dependence ' 
O,  if  you  could  but  use  your  dependence  rightly,  find- 
ing how  to  really  and  truly  depend,  what  power  and 
victory  would  it  bring!  The  very  steering  power 
you  have,  which  is  the  highest  power  God  has  given 
you  to  wield,  is  nothing  but  a  way  of  depending ;  that 
is  of  right  self-adjustment  to  the  gales  of  the  Spirit  and 
the  operating  forces  of  God.  How  certainly  too  and 
tenderly  would  your  God  be  drawn  to  you,  putting  all 
his  power  upon  you,  if  he  only  saw  you  carefulh^  g^i^'ig- 
ing  your  small  duties  so  as  to  guide  yourselves  into  his 
help  Kemember  his  promise,  "he  that  is  faithful  in 
that  which  is  least," — nothing  draws  the  heart  of  God 
like  that. 

Now  it  is  very  true  that  a  man  who  is  tending  the 
Bmall  helm  of  dut}^  VN'ith  great  exactness  may  become 
painfully  legal  in  it — a  precisionist,  a  Pharisee.     But  it 


CHRISTIAN    ABILITY.  173 

shonld  not  be  so,  and  never  will  be,  save  when  the  pre 
cision  is  itself  made  a  religion  of.  That  precision 
which  is  only  a  way  of  steering  the  sonl,  precisely  and 
faithfully,  into  God's  inspirations,  is  bnt  the  necessary 
condition  of  liberty.  No  man  ever  keeps  the  way  ol 
liberty  in  a  heedless,  hap-hazard  life.  Mere  strictness  is 
only  a  mode  of  pain,  but  the  strictness  of  a  delicately 
faithful  and  punctual  address  to  God,  has  God's  witness 
and  free  blessing  always  upon  it.  Such  a  disciphj  con- 
sciously means  to  be  faithful  and,  as  certainly  as  God  is 
God,  he  will  somehow  have  God's  power  npon  him.  A 
very  nice  way  of  application,  a  steady,  sleepless  ^atch 
of  the  helm,  turning  it  moment  by  moment,  by  gentle 
deflections — this  navigates  the  ship  and  keeps  it  bound- 
ing on,  as  in  the  liberty  of  the  sea !  No  Christian  ia 
ever  driven  loose  from  his  course,  when  he  holds  him- 
self up  to  God,  in  the  adjustment  of  a  careful  trust. 

Now  in  all  that  I  have  said,  thus  far,  in  the  unfolding 
of  this  very  practical  subject,  I  have  been  preparing  a 
more  distinctly  Christian  view  of  it,  that  could  not  oth- 
erwise be  given — this  I  will  now  present,  and  with  this 
I  close. 

I  have  been  showing  what  power  accrues,  or  will  ac- 
crue, as  we  keep  ourselves  in,  or  bring  ourselves  into, 
the  range  of  God's  operation ;  and  this  word  operation 
has  been  taken  probably  as  referring  only  to  the  omni- 
potent working  of  his  will,  or  spiritual  force.  But 
there  is  a  power  of  God  which  is  not  his  omnipotence, 
and  has  a  wholly  different  mode  of  working;  I  mean 
his  moral  power — that  of  his  beauty,  goodness,  gentle- 


174  CHRISTIAN     ABILITY. 

ness,  truth,  purity,  suffering  cornpassioTi,  in  one  word, 
his  cliaracte]'.  In  this  kind  of  power,  he  works,  not  b^ 
what  he  wills,  but  by  what  he  is.  What  is  w^antorl, 
therefore,  above  all  things,  in  the  regeneration  of  souls, 
and  their  advancement  toward  perfection  afterward,  is  to 
be  somehow  put  in  the  range  of  this  higher  power  and 
kept  there.  And  here  exactly  is  the  sublime  art  and 
glory  of  the  new  divine  economy  in  Christ.  For  he  is 
such,  and  so  related  to  our  want,  that  our  mind  gets  a 
way  open  throughi  him  to  God's  divine  beauty  and 
greatness,  so  that  we  may  bring  our  heart  up  into  the 
transforming,  molding  efficacy  of  these,  which  we  most 
especially  need — need  even  the  more  imperatively,  that 
our  very  conceptions  of  God,  under  the  lowness  and 
blind  apathy  of  our  sin,  are  so  dull,  and  dim,  and  coarse, 
as  to  have  little  value  and  power. 

The  infinite  perfection,  or  unseen  beauty  of  God — 
how  could  we  so  much  as  frame  a  notion  of  it,  when 
even  the  being  of  God,  as  an  unseen  spirit,  has  so  little 
reality  to  our  coarse  and  fearfully  demoralized  appre- 
hensions? Therefore  understanding  well  our  utter  ina- 
bility to  so  much  as  conceive  the  perfect  good  in  which 
we  require  to  be  fashioned,  or  the  moral  excellence  of 
God  whose  image  is  to  stamp  itself  upon,  us,  he  has 
undertaken  to  put  even  this  before  our  eyes.  To  thin 
end  he  becomes  incarnate  in  the  person  of  his  Son. 
As  the  incarnate  Son,  he  is  God  in  the  small,  God  in 
humanity,  the  Son  of  Man,  bringing  all  God's  beauty 
and  perfection  to  us  in  a  personal  being  and  life  akin  to 
our  own— powerful  on  our  own,  bj  the  tragic  uenderncsa 


CHRISTIAN    ABILITY.  175 

of  his  cross ;  so  that  if  we  simply  love  and  cleave  unto 
his  human  person,  unto  his  cross,  we  embrace  in  him 
all  that  is  included  in  God's  infinite  feeling  and  char- 
acter. In  this  view  it  is,  that  he  says,  "  I  am  the  door ;" 
for  he  is  just  that  opening  into  the  infinite  beauty  that 
brings  us  to  the  sense  of  it,  and  puts  us  in  the  power  of 
it,  Just  this  too  was  his  meaning  when  he  said,  "he  that 
hath  seen  me  hath  seen  the  Father  " — he  has  seen  a  man 
simply,  in  one  view ;  yet,  in  another,  he  has  seen  even 
Grod,  in  all  those  distant,  impossible  glories  and  perfec- 
tions,  he  otherwise  could  not  conceive.  This  too  was 
what  he  had  in  thought  when  he  said — "  He  that  be- 
lieveth  on  me  believeth  not  on  me,  but  on  him  that  sent 
me.  And  he  that  seeth  me  seeth  him  that  sent  me." 
The  omnipotence  of  God  works  absolutely,  the  moral 
power  of  God  by  being  seen,  and  Christ  makes  it  seen. 
By  which  means,  as  an  apostle  conceives,  he  becomes  the 
power  of  God — "  Christ  the  power  of  God  and  the  wis- 
dom of  God."  In  short  this  exactly  is  Christianity — 
this  thought  labors  all  through — that  Christ  in  humanity 
is  God  humanized,  divine  feeling  and  perfection  let 
down  into  the  modes  of  finite  sentiment  and  apprehen- 
sion. In  his  human  person,  and  the  revelation  of  his 
cross,  he  is  the  door,  the  interpreter  to  our  hearts,  of 
God  himself — so  the  moral  power  of  God  upon  our 
hearts.  It  is  not  necessary  that  we  should  so  much  as 
frame  the  intellectual  idea  of  God's  perfection"  from  him, 
which  multitudes  could  never  do — we  have  simply  to 
love  him  and  cleave  to  him  as  to  a  human  person,  and 
we  have  the  very  excellence  of  God  framing  itself  into 


176  CHRISTIAN    ABILITY. 

US,  bj  a  most  naturally  relational,  humanly  real,  sym- 
pathy; the  power,  that  is  the  moral  power,  of  God  is 
upon  us,  and  revealing  itself  in  us  with  all  needed 
efficacy. 

Christ  then  as  the  Son  of  Man,  is  that  small  helm  put 
in  the  hand,  so  to  speak,  of  our  affections,  to  bring  us 
in,  to  God's  most  interior  beauty  and  perfection,  and 
puts  us  in  the  power  of  his  infinite,  unseen  character ; 
thus  to  be  molded  by  it  and  fashioned  to  conformity 
with  it.  And  so  we  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  keep  his 
company,  and  watch  for  him  in  faithful  adhesion  to  his 
person,  in  order  to  be  kept  in  the  very  element  of  God's 
character,  and  have  the  consciousness  of  God,  as  a  state 
of  continually  progressive  and  immovably  steadfast  ex- 
perience. The  moral  power  of  God  and  God's  glory  is 
mirrored  directly  into  us,  to  become  a  divine  glory  in 
us.  Beholding,  as  in  a  glass,  the  glory  of  the  Lord,  we 
are  changed  into  the  same  image  from  glory  to  glory. 
This  it  is,  working  in  our  sin,  that  clears  it  all  away — 
the  power  of  God  unto  salvation. 

What  now  brethren  and  friends,  is  our  conclusion  ? 
What  have  we  seen  but  that  all  condolings  with  our- 
selves, all  regrets  of  failure,  turning  upon  the  fact  of 
our  weakness,  all  protestations  of  inability,  all  sighs  and 
suspirations  ending  in  the  word  "impossible,"  are  with- 
out a  shadow  of  reason — utterly  groundless.  We  can 
do  and  become  just  all  that  we  ought,  and  without  so 
muv*.h  as  one  strain  of  self-endeavor.  It  is  very  true 
that  God  has  not  made  us  omnipotent — we  can  not  ma- 
nipulate ourselves  into  holy  character  by  our  will,  we 


CHRISTIAN    ABILITY.  177 

can  neither  regenerate,  nor  make  free,  nor  purify,  nor 
keep  ourselves.  And  just  so  we  can  not  do  any  thing 
in  the  world  of  natural  experience,  without  making  our 
address  to  the  powers  of  nature.  Do  we  mourn  over 
this  in  listless  impatience,  and  call  it  our  dreadful  ina- 
bility ?  Does  the  man  who  can  not  navigate  a  ship  by 
its  body,  or  drag  it  through  the  sea  by  its  beak,  set  him- 
self down  upon  the  word  impossible,  and  desist  from 
the  voyage?  No,  but  he  takes  the  very  small  helm, 
heading  bravely  out  into  the  storms,  compelling  the 
huge  bulk,  in  that  easy  manner,  to  go  where  he  senda 
it,  dashing  on  still  on,  by  night  and  by  day,  and  week 
after  week,  and  month  after  month,  till  he  has  taken  it 
possibly  clean  round  the  planet  he  lives  on,  and  brought 
it  quietly  in  to  the  haven  for  which  he  was  set.  Here, 
just  here,  is  the  mighty  power  of  man,  that  he  can 
steer !  Weak  in  himself,  as  regards  most  things,  able  to 
do  almost  nothing  in  the  gross,  he  can  yet  do  ahnost 
any  thing  by  only  steering  it  into  the  lines  of 
forces  that  will  do  it  for  him.  And  the  same  holds 
true  exactly  in  religion.  No  man  here  is  called  to  do 
some  great  thing  which  he  can  not  do.  Nothing  is 
necessary  for  you,  in  becoming  a  Christian,  or  maintain- 
ing a  triumphant  Christian  life,  but  just  to  stay  by  the 
helm,  and  put  yourselves  in  where  the  power  is — then 
you  have  all  power,  and  every  mountain  bidk  goea 
away  at  your  bidding !  Come  unto  God,  unite  your- 
selves to  God,  and  the  doing  power  you  have  is  infi- 
nite ! — and  is  none  the  less  yours  because  it  is  his.  Trim 
your  ship  steadily  to  the  course,  and  God's  own  gales 


178  CHRISTIAN    ABILITY. 

will  waft  it.  If  you  want  success  enougli  to  set  your 
selves  for  it,  and  guage  your  courses  accurately  by  a 
strict  application,  infallible  success  is  yours.  Or,  better 
still,  if  your  mind  is  dark,  if  you  do  not  even  know 
how  to  guage  any  movement  rightly,  or  even  what  the 
words  mean  that  speak  of  it — then  come  to  the  man 
Jesus,  your  blessed,  all-perfect  brother,  ask  him  to  let  you 
go  with  him  and  keep  him  company,  cling  fast  to  him, 
and  all  the  transforming  moral  power  of  God  shall  be 
with  you.  To  investigate  much  and  know  many  things, 
is  not  necessary.  Only  to  love  Jesus  and  adhere  to 
him  faithfully,  knowing  simply  him,  is  wisdom  enough. 
He  will  be  the  door,  so  that  your  heart  will  pass  in, 
where  your  understanding  can  not  reach.  No  matter 
how  weak  you  may  seem  to  be,  or  how  many  impassa- 
ble mountains  to  be  before  you,  or  how  many  fierce 
storms  to  be  raging  round  you,  still  you  will  go  over 
mountains  beaten  small  as  chafP,  on  through  tempests 
that  have  heard  the  word  "be  still."  You  will  never 
fail  or  fall.  Stay  by  your  love  to  Jesus  and  the  power 
of  God's  infinite  will  is  with  you,  and  the  still  mightier, 
more  inconceivable  power  of  his  greatness  upon  you. 
0  this  glorious  fact  of  our  dependence — if  we  speak  of 
ability,  we  have  all  utmost  ability  in  it.  We  come  tc 
no  bar  in  it,  brethren,  as  many  are  wont  to  speak.  If 
only  we  can  rightly  depend,  we  come  into  all  power 
rather,  and  are  able  to  do  all  things !  Here  it  is  that  so 
many  of  God's  mighty  ones  became  mighty — Moses, 
Elijah,  Paul,  Luther,  Cromwell — all  those  efiicient  and 
successful  ones  that  we  ourselves  have  met,  wondering 


CHRISTIAN    ABILITY.  179 

often  how  they  got  such  emphasis  of  action,  such  re- 
sistless sway.  They  were  men  who  kept  companj^  with 
God,  and  lived  in  the  powerful  element  of  his  divine 
operation.  Here  is  the  only  way  of  success,  whether 
of  single  men,  or  of  churches.  How  can  a  church  get 
on  in  any  great  concern  of  religion,  when  it  is  out  at 
sea,  beating  about  as  it  is  driven,  and  steering  just  no 
whither.  Nor  is  it  any  better  if  we  take  the  ship  into 
our  own  hands,  to  do  all  for  it  ourselves.  Let  us 
come  into  God's  operation,  and  God  will  know  how  to 
open  a  way  for  us.  He  will  lead  just  where  we 
most  want  to  go,  and  send  us  every  gift  even  as  he 
gives  us  a  gospel.  So  if  we  are  baffled  personally, 
in  all  our  Christian  aims  and  doings,  losing  ground, 
weak  and  growing  weaker,  unhappy,  dissatisfied,  hope- 
less of  good — out  upon  this  wild  and  dreadful  sea,  and 
driven  by  all  fierce  winds  and  storms  of  the  mind,  we 
have  only  to  steer  ourselves  on,  by  the  steady  helm  of 
dependence,  and  our  way  is  clear  to  the  harbor. 


IX. 

INTEGRITY   AND   GRACE. 


**  Judge  me  0  Lord  according  to  my  righteousness^  and 
according  to  mine  integrity  that  is  in  me." — Ps.  vii,  8. 

A  trnlj  noble  confidence ! — and  yet  many  of  our 
time  would  call  the  language  very  dangerous,  or  scarcely 
Christian,  language,  if  it  were  spoken  by  any  but  one 
of  the  scripture  saints.  What  can  be  a  slipperier  foot- 
ing, they  would  say,  for  any  sinner  of  mankind,  than  to 
be  appealing  to  God  in  the  confidence  of  his  own  right- 
eousness ;  or,  what  is  even  worse,  in  the  confidence  of 
his  mere  integrity  ?  What  does  it  show  but  a  state  of 
egregious,  fearfully  overgrown,  spiritual  conceit,  coupled 
with  a  prodigious  self-ignorance?  And  what  could 
evince  a  lower  sense  of  God  and  religion  ?  We  shall 
see  whether  it  is  so,  or  must  needs  be  so  in  all  cases  or 
not. 

It  may  not  be  amiss  to  note  that  some  Unitarian 
teachers,  on  the  other  hand,  charge  it  as  a  fault  in  our 
doctrine  of  salvation  by  grace,  or  justification  by  faith, 
that  it  lets  down  even  the  standards  of  our  morality 
itself;  making  grace  a  cover  for  all  defections  from 
honor,   truth,  honesty,  and  whatever   belongs    to  tlie 


INTEGRITY     AND    GllACE.  1^1 

outward  integrity  of  our  practices;  allowing  us  to  l)e 
selfish,  heartless,  perfidious,  crafty,  cruel,  mean,  and  all 
this  in  good  keeping,  because  it  is  a  part  of  our  merit 
under  grace,  to  have  no  merit. 

Let  us  pursue  this  subject,  and  see  if  we  can  find  the 
true  place  for  integrity  under  the  Christian  salvation. 
AtA  we  shall  best  open  the  inquiry,  I  think,  by 
noting — 

1.  How  the  scriptures  speak  of  integrity ;  how  mani- 
fold and  bold  the  forms  in  which  they  commend  it,  and 
how  freely  the  good  men  of  the  scripture  times  testify 
their  consciousness  of  it,  in  their  appeals  to  God.  The 
text  I  have  cited  does  not  stand  alone.  In  the  twenty- 
sixth  Psalm,  David  says  again — "Judge  me  0  Lord; 
for  I  have  walked  in  mine  integrity."  And  again — 
"  But  as  for  me,  I  will  walk  in  mine  integrity."  The 
Proverbs  testify  in  language  still  more  unqualified, 
— "that  the  integrity  of  the  upright  shall  preserve 
them,"  "The  just  man  walketh  in  his  integrity."  In 
the  same  view  it  is,  that  good  men  are  so  often  called 
"  the  upright "  and  "  the  just " — "  Mark  the  perfect  man 
and  behold  the  upright,"  "The  way  of  the  just  is 
uprightness,  thou  most  upright  dost  weigh  the  path  of 
the  just."  They  are  called  "righteous"  too  and  "right" 
a  the  same  manner,  and  it  is  even  declared  that  they 
"  shall  deliver  their  own  souls  by  their  righteousness." 
And  lest  we  should  imagine  that  the  integrity,  honored 
by  so  many  commendations  and  examples,  is  only  a 
crude  and  partial  conception,  belonging  to  the  piety  of 
the  Old  Testament,  the  Christian  disciples  of  the  New 

16 


J82  INTEGRITY    AND    GRACE. 

ure  testifying  also  in  a  hundred  ways,  to  the  integrity, 
before  God  and  man,  in  which  they  consciously  live. 
They  dare  to  say  that  they  have  a  conscience  void  of 
offense,  that  they  serve  God  with  a  pure  conscience,  that 
tliey  count  it  nothing  to  be  judged  of  man's  judgment, 
when  they  know  that  God  approves  them.  They  re- 
joice in  the  confidence  that  they  are  made  manifest 
unto  God,  and  tenderly  hope  that  they  may  be  made 
manifest  also  in  the  consciences  of  men.  They  are  so 
assured  in  the  sense  of  their  own  integrity,  as  followers  of 
Christ,  that  they  even  dare  to  exhort  others  to  walk 
as  tliey  have  them  for  examples.  And  this  holy  con- 
sciousness of  being  right  with  God,  of  being  wholly 
offered  up  to  him,  of  wanting  to  know  nothing  but 
Christ,  of  losing  all  things  for  his  sake,  appears  and 
reappears  in  as  many  forms  as  language  can  possibly 
take.  They  spend  their  life,  as  it  were,  in  the  testi- 
mony that  the}^  please  God.  Making  the  strongest  con- 
fessions of  ill  desert,  and  resting  their  salvation  every- 
where on  the  justifying  grace  and  righteousness  of  God, 
they  still  are  able,  somehow,  to  be  free  in  professing  their 
own  conscious  mtegrity  in  their  discipleship,  and  the  sense 
they  have  of  being  right  and  true — whole  men,  so  to 
speak,  in  the  service  of  their  master.  Whether  we  can 
explain  the  riddle,  or  not,  so  it  is.  But  the  explanation 
is  not  difficult,  and,  before  we  have  done,  will  be  made 
sufficiently  clear.     Consider  then — 

2.  "What  integrity  means,  or  what  is  the  state  in- 
tended by  it.  As  an  integer  is  a  whole,  in  distinction 
from  a  fraction,  which  is  only  a  part,  so  a  man  of  in- 


INTEGRITY    AND    GRACE.  188 

tegritj;  is  a  man  whose  aim,  in  the  right,  is  a  whole  aim, 
ia  distinction  from  one  whose  aim  is  divided,  partial,  or 
unstable.  It  is  such  a  state  of  right  intention  as  allowa 
the  man  to  be  consciously  right-minded,  and  to  firmly 
rest  in  the  singleness  of  his  purpose.  He  is  a  man  who 
stands  in  the  full  honors  of  rectitude  before  his  own 
mind  or  conscience.  It  does  not  mean  that  he  has 
never  been  a  sinner,  or  that  he  is  not  now,  as  regards 
the  disorders  and  moral  weaknesses  of  his  nature,  but 
simply  that  whatever  msiy  have  been  his  life,  or  the 
guilt  of  it,  he  is  now  turned,  as  regards  the  intent  of  his 
soul,  to  do  and  be  wholly  right;  firmly  set,  of  course, 
to  receive  all  the  possible  helps  in  his  reach,  for  main* 
tainiiig  a  life  wholly  right  with  God  and  man. 

But  we  must  not  pass  over  the  distinction  between 
what  is  called  commercial,  or  social  integrity,  and  the 
higher  integrity  of  religion.  This  commercial  integrity 
which  is  greatly  affected  and  much  praised  among  men, 
relates  only  to  matters  of  truth  and  personal  justice  in 
the  outward  affairs  of  life,  and  becomes  integrity  only  be- 
cause it  is  measured  by  a  partial  and  merel}^  human 
standard,  viz.,  the  standard  of  the  market,  and  of  so- 
cial opinion.  Such  a  character  is  always  held  in  high 
respect  among  men,  and,  what  is  more,  it  should  be.  It 
is  really  refreshing  in  this  selfish,  scheming,  sharp-deal- 
ing world,  to  meet  an  honest  man.  Whether  he  be  a 
Christian  or  not,  we  love  to  honor  such  a  man.  It  will 
also  be  seen  that  he  is  a  man  who  means,  at  least  so  far. 
to  honor  himself.  But  it  does  not  follow  that  such  a 
man's  integrity  is  complete  enough  even  to  give  him  a 


184  INTEGRITY    AND    GRACE. 

good  conscience.  He  is,  after  all,  it  may  be,  no  pucb 
integer  in  his  confidence,  or  the  approbation  of  his  own  ^ 
mind,  as  he  consciously  might  be.  His  intent  is  not 
really  right,  that  is  to  accept  the  principle  of  right  doing 
in  its  breadth,  as  the  arbiter  of  all  action,  and  do  and 
be  all  right  and  forever.  All  that  can  be  said  of  him, 
all  that  he  will  say  for  himself,  is  that  he  has  had  it  for 
his  law  to  speak  the  truth,  fulfill  his  promises,  and  deal 
fairly  by  his  fellow  men.  Still  it  is  not,  and  has  never 
been  his  aim,  or  object,  to  do  what  is  right  to  God ;  and 
that  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  is  a  matter  of  much  higher 
consequence  and  more  necessary  to  his  real  integrity. 
God  is  a  person  as  truly  as  men  are,  more  closely  related 
to  us  than  they,  a  better  friend,  one  who  has  more  feel- 
ing to  be  injured  than  they  all,  claims  of  right  more 
sacred.  What  then  does  it  signify  that  a  man  gives 
men  their  due,  and  will  not  give  God  his?  Does  it  give 
one  a  title  to  be  called  humane,  that  he  will  not 
stick  a  fly  with  a  pin  because  of  his  tenderness,  and  yet 
will  stab,  in  bitter  grudge,  his  fellow  man  ?  Does  it 
fitly  entitle  one  to  the  name  of  a  just  man,  that  he  is 
honest  and  fair  with  men  of  one  color,  and  not  with 
those  of  another,  honest  and  fair  on  three  days,  or  even 
live  days  in  the  week,  and  not  on  the  days  that  remain? 
What  then  shall  we  think  of  the  mere  commercial  in- 
tegrity just  described,  taken  by  itself?  Calling  it  integ- 
rity, it  is  still  integrity  by  halves,  and,  of  course,  with- 
out the  principle ;  integrity  by  market  standards  only, 
and  not  by  any  standard  that  makes  a  real  integer  in 
duty.     Eeal  integrity  begins  with  the  principle,  mean- 


INTEGRITY    AND    GRACE.  185 

ing  to  give  every  one  his  due ;  to  be  right  with  God,  as 
with  men,  right  against  popularity  as  with  it,  right 
everywhere,  wholly  and  eternally  right. 

You  perceive,  in  this  manner,  how  easy  it  it  is  for  a 
man  to  be  in  great  repute  for  this  virtue,  and  yet  be 
wholly  uncommitted  to  principle  in  it.     Nay,  he  may 
even  be  a  very  bad  man.     Examples  of  the  kind  will 
occur  to  almost  any  one.     I  knew  in  college,  and  after- 
ward in  a  remote  part  of  the  country,  a  man  of  such 
repute  now  in  the  law,  that  he  was  said  to  have  made 
the  greatest  argument  ever  presented  before  the  Supreme 
Court  at  Washington,    whose    reputation,    as    a    kind 
of  Cato  in  this  matter  of  market  integrity,  was  scarcely 
less  remarkable.     He  had  more  than  once  kicked  a  man 
out  of  his  office,  who  had  come  to  engage  him  in  a  case 
plainly  tainted  with  fraud,  and  would  never  allow  him 
self  to  gain  a  point,  by  the  least  deviation  from  truth 
And  yet  he  was  a  man  of  many  vices,   and  a  man 
withal,  of  such  infernal  temper,  that  his  wife  and  chil 
dren  knew  him  only  as  a  tyrant  scarcely  endurable, 
Getting  exasperated  almost  to  the  pitch  of  insanity,  by 
what  he  conceived  to  be  a  base  attempt  of  his  law  part 
ner  to  jew  him,  for  he  was  a  Jew,  in  a  matter  of  busi 
ncss,  he  drew  off  in  disgust  and  anger  from  his  prac- 
tice,  determined  to  add  nothing  more  to  the  profits  of 
the  concern,  where  before  he  had,  in  fact,  brought  all. 
As  the  contract  still  existed  in  law,  the  right  of  his  pro* 
ceeding  might  be  questioned,  but  his  almost  overgrown 
sensibilities  to  points  of  honor  would  no  longer  suffer 
him  even  to  look  upon  the  face  of  such  a  man.     Still  he 

16* 


186  INTEGRITY    AND    GRACE. 

would  not  so  far  disrespect  the  contract  as  to  open  a 
separate  and  rival  office,  but  hired  himself  out  as  a  com- 
mor  laborer  in  unloading  coal  from  one  of  the  ships  in 
tlie  harbo^'  While  at  work  there,  smirched  and 
gnmed  by  coal-dust,  there  came  to  him,  in  a  few  days, 
a  (ilient  who  wanted  to  engage  him  in  a  great  cause 
involving  the  title  to  a  vast  property.  Inasmuch  as 
he  must  live,  apart  from  all  profits,  he  finalW  consented 
to  undertake  it,  on  condition  that  he  should  receive 
only  a  small  da}^ -wages  allowance.  He  won  the  cause. 
And  then,  five  or  six  years  after,  when  he  had  his  fam- 
ily with  him,  and  was  known  to  be  short  in  the  means 
of  living,  his  old  client,  whom  he  had  made  a  rich  man, 
sent  him  a  present  of  twenty  thousand  dollars.  He  was 
rather  offended  than  pleased — as  if  he  would  do  so 
mean  a  thing  as  to  cover  up  the  fact  of  a  fee,  under  the 
semblance  of  a  stipulation  for  day-wages!  Forthwith 
he  returned  the  present,  and  when  it  was  renewed  as  a 
present  to  his  wife,  he  required  her  also  to  send  it  back. 
If  his  partner  had  seen  fit  to  raise  a  legal  claim  for  the 
money  as  a  fee,  he  might  easily  have  been  quieted  by 
half  the  sum,  but  rather  than  consent  to  enrich  a  knave 
by  that  amount,  he  preferred  to  rob  his  family  of  the 
same. 

Now  this  man,  so  keenly  sensitive  to  the  matter  of 
honor  in  business,  as  to  be  well-nigh  demonized  by  it, 
was  not  even  a  virtuous  man.  He  was,  in  fact,  the 
most  magnificently  abominable  man  I  ever  knew.  And 
he  died  as  he  lived.  The  steamer  on  which  he  was  a 
passenger  sprung  a  leak  at  sea,   and  when  they  called 


INTEGRITY    AND    GRACE.  187 

him  to  the  pumps,  protesting,  with  an  oath,  that  he 
would  do  no  so  mean  thing  as  to  pump  for  his  life,  he 
locked  himself  u;^  in  his  state-room,  and  there  he  stayed, 
like  a  tiger  in  his  cage,  till  the  ship  went  down. 

Was  he  then  a  man  of  integrity  ?  In  one  view  he 
certainly  was,  and  that  was  his  reputation.  Still  he 
was  a  man  false  to  every  right  principle,  both  of  God 
and  man,  but  just  one;  an  example  in  which  any  one 
may  see  how  little  the  boasted  integrity  of  commercial 
honor  and  truth  may  signify,  when  taken  alone. 

I  could  easily  have  given  you  a  thousand  nobler  and 
more  beautiful  examples  of  integrity,  in  the  spheres  of 
business,  and  before  the  human  standards  of  commercial 
obligation.  I  give  you  this,  just  because  it  is  so  nearly 
repulsive ;  showing,  in  that  manner,  bow  little  true  merit 
of  character  belongs  to  this  kind  of  virtue,  when  it  stands 
by  itself.  How  far  off  is  it  then  from  being  any  true 
eqaivalentfor  that  broad,  universal,  radically  principled 
integrity  that  includes  religion.  Whoever  is  in  the 
principle  of  right-doing,  as  a  principle,  will  be  ready 
to  do  all  right,  always,  and  everywhere — to  God  as  to 
men,  to  men  as  to  God.  This  it  is  and  this  only  that 
makes  a  genuinely  whole-intent  man,  thus  a  man  of  in- 
tegrity. 

There  is,  then,  a  kind  of  integrity  which  goes  vastly 
i)oyond  the  mere  integrity  of  trade,  and  which  is  the 
only  real  integrity.  The  other  is  merely  a  name  in  which 
men  of  the  market  compliment  themselves,  when  they 
observe  their  own  standards;  though  consciously  neg- 
lecting the  higher  standards  of  right  as  before  God. 


188  INTEGRITY    AND    GKACE. 

This  higher,  and  only  real,  integrity,  is  the  root  of  alj 
true  character,  and  must  be  the  condition,  somehow,  of 
Christian  character  itself.     Let  us  inquire — 

8.  In  what  manner?  Christ,  we  sav,  does  not  under- 
take to  save  men  by  their  merit,  or  on  terms  of  justice 
and  reward,  but  to  save  them  out  of  great  ill  desert 
rather,  and  by  purely  gratuitous  favor.  What  place 
have  we  then  under  such  a  scheme  of  religion,  for  in- 
sisting on  the  need  of  integrity  at  all.  Does  it  not  even 
appear  to  be  superseded,  or  dispensed  with  ? 

I  wish  I  could  deny  that  some  pretendedly  orthodox 
Christians  do  not  seem,  in  fact,  to  think  so.  It  is  the 
comfort  of  what  they  call  their  piety,  that  God  is  going  to 
dispense  with  all  merit  in  them,  and  this  they  take  to  mean 
about  the  same  thing  as  dispensing  with  all  the  sound 
realities  of  character — all  exactness  of  principle  and 
conduct.  They  are  sometimes  quite  sanctimonious  in 
this  kind  of  Mih.  Cunning,  sharp,  untruthful,  extor- 
tions, they  look  up  piously  still,  at  the  top  of  what 
they  call  their  faith,  and  bless  God  that  he  is  able  to 
hide  a  multitude  of  sins — able  to  save  great  sinners  of 
whom  they  are  chief!  Submitting  themselves  habitu- 
ally to  evil,  they  compliment  themselves  in  abundant 
confessions  of  sin ;  counting  it  apparently  a  kind  of 
merit  that  they  live  loosely  enough  to  make  salvation 
by  merit  impossible.  Ten  times  a  day  they  declare  that 
they  will  know  nothing  but  Christ  and  him  crucified, 
and  lest  they  should  miss  of  such  a  faith,  they  do  not 
spare  to  crucify  him  abundantly  themselves  1 

It  can  not  be  that  such  persons  are  not  m  a  gTeat 


INTEGRITY    AND    GRACE.  189 

mistake.  Any  scheme  of  salvation  that  undertakes  to 
save  without  integrity,  has,  to  say  the  least,  a  ver}^  poor 
title  to  respect.  And  it  ought  to  be  evident  before- 
hand, that  Christianity  is  no  such  scheme  at  all. 

Yes  doubtless,  it  will  be  said,  there  must  be  such  a  thing 
as  integrity — that  is,  commercial  integrity — in  Christian 
men,  else  they  would  bring  very  great  scandal  on 
the  cause.  Is  it  then  permitted  that,  if  they  will  be 
just  and  true  in  trade  and  in  society,  they  may  safely 
consent  to  be  out  of  integrity  with  God  ?  Looking  at 
the  principle  of  things,  for  there  is  nothing  else  to  look 
at  here,  it  would  seem  that  the  Great  God  and  Father 
of  us  all  is  certainly  as  much  entitled  to  consideration 
from  us  as  we  are  from  each  other,  and  how  can  there 
be  any  genuine  principle  at  all  in  a  disciple,  who  is  not 
in  that  higher  integrity  which  includes  doing  justice  to 
God — being  right  with  God  ? 

There  must  then  be  some  place  for  the  claim  of  integ- 
rity in  our  gospel,  even  though  it  be  a  scheme  of  salvation 
by  grace.  Nor  does  the  solution  of  the  matter  appear 
to  be  difficult.  Integrity,  we  have  seen,  is  wholenesa 
of  aim,  or  intent;  but  mere  intent  of  soul  does  not 
make  and  never  could  complete  a  character.  It  is  even 
conceivable  that  a  soul  steeped  in  the  disorders  of  sin, 
might  take  up  such  a  kind  of  intent,  on  its  own  part, 
and,  acting  by  itself,  be  only  baffled  in  continual  defeats 
and  failures  to  the  end  of  life.  There  is  no  redeeming 
efficacy  in  right  intent,  taken  by  itself — it  would  never 
vanquish  the  inward  state  of  evil  at  all.  And  yet  it  is 
iust  that  by  which  all  evil  will  be  vanquished,  undei 


190  INTEGRITY    AND    GRACE. 

Christ  and  by  grace,  because  it  ])uts  the  soul  in  such  a 
state  as  makes  the  grace-power  of  Christ,  co-woriving 
"with  it,  efFectuaL  Conscious  of  wrong,  for  example, 
and  groaning  under  the  bitterness  of  it,  I  take  it  up  as 
rny  intent  to  be  and  become  wholly  right.  Then  I  find 
Christ  near  me — 0  how  near! — yielding  me  his  divine 
sympathy,  and  pouring  his  whole  tenderness  into  my 
feeling.  As  regards  the  guilty  past,  he  wdll  justify  me 
freely,  and  hold  me  to  account  no  more.  As  regards 
the  future,  he  will  take  me  as  a  friend,  raise  my  concep- 
tions of  what  is  good  by  his  own  beauty,  ennoble  my 
feeling  by  society  with  him,  draw  me  up  out  of  my 
lowness  and  my  weak  corruptions,  by  his  character 
great  in  suffering,  and  so  enable  me  to  conquer  all  my 
evils,  as  he  conquered  his.  As  certainly  then  as  1  come 
into  right  intent,  I  shall  come  into  faith,  and  trust  my- 
self to  him,  as  a  means  of  becoming  what  I  have  under- 
taken to  become. 

Here  then  is  the  place  of  integrity.  It  is  even  pre- 
supposed in  all  true  faith,  and  enters,  in  that  manner, 
into  all  true  gospel  character.  It  does  not  exclude  the 
grace  of  Christ,  or  supersede  salvation  by  grace,  but  on 
the  human  side  moves  toward  grace,  and  is  inwardly 
conjoined  with  it,  in  all  the  characters  it  forms.  The 
sinning  man,  who  comes  into  integrity  of  aim,  is  pat 
thereby  at  the  very  gate  of  faith,  where  all  God's  helps 
are  waiting  for  him.  Now  that  he  is  so  tenderly  and 
nobly  honest,  there  is  no  grace  of  God,  or  help  of  hig 
merciful  spirit,  that  will  not  flow  into  him  as  naturally 
as  light  into  a  window.     By  this  grace,  in  which  he 


INTEGRITY    AND    GRACE.  191 

Will  now  trust,  his  whole  being,  feeling,  aspiration^ 
hope,  are  invested,  and  the  light  of  God,  the  brightness 
of  salvation,  everlasting  life,  is  in  him — he  is  born  of 
God. 

His  integrity,  therefore,  his  new  and  better  aim,  is 
not  any  ground  of  merit,  or  title  of  desert,  which  dis- 
penses with  faith,  but  his  way  of  coming  into  faith — thus 
into  the  helps,  inspirations,  joys  and  triumphs  that  Christ 
will  inwardly  minister — in  one  word,  into  the  righteous- 
ness of  God.  And  accordingly  the  scriptures  formally 
condition  all  such  helps,  on  the  integrity  of  the  soul  that 
wants  them.  "  Ye  shall  seek  me  and  find  me,  if  ye 
search  for  me  with  all  your  heart " — that  is  with  a  whole 
and  single  aim.  "If  I  regard  iniquity  in  my  heart, 
the  Lord  will  not  hear  me."  "If  thine  eye  be  single, 
thy  whole  body  shall  be  full  of  light."  The  scriptures, 
we  may  thus  perceive,  have  no  difficulty  in  finding  how 
integrity  is  needed  in  a  way  of  salvation  by  grace,  and 
there  is,  in  fact,  no  such  difficulty,  save  as  we  make  it 
ourselves. 

Having  discovered,  in  this  manner,  what,  and  how 
great  a  thing  integrity  is,  and  the  necessity  of  it  on 
strictly  Christian  grounds,  let  us  note  in  conclusion, 
some  of  the  practical  relations  of  the  subject.     And 

1.  Consider  what  it  is  that  gives  such  peace  and  lofti- 
ness of  bearing  to  the  life  of  a  truly  righteous  man. 
What  an  atmosphere  of  serenity  does  it  create  for  him, 
that  he  is  living  in  a  conscience  void  of  offense.  And 
when  great  storms  of  trouble  drive  their  clouds  about 
him,  when  he  is  assailed  by  enemies  and  detractors,  per- 


192  INTEGRITY    AND    GRACE. 

secuted  for  his  opinions,  broken  down  by  adversities, 
tlirown  out  of  confidence  and  respect  even,  as  will 
sometimes  happen,  by  felse  constructions  of  his  conduct 
and  malignant  conspiracies  against  his  character,  still 
his  soul  abides  in  peace,  because  he  justifies  himself  and 
has  the  witness  that  he  pleases  God.  These  clouds  that 
seem  to  be  about  him  do  still  not  shut  him  in.  He  sits 
above  with  his  God,  and  they  all  sail  under !  Such  a 
man  is  strong  my  brethren — -how  very  strong!  There 
is  no  power  below  the  stars  that  can  shake  him !  The 
steaming  vapors  of  a  diseased  body  can  not  rise  high 
enough  to  cloud  his  sun.  He  is  able  still  and  always 
to  make  his  great  appeal  and  say — "Judge  me  O  Lord, 
according  to  my  righteousness,  and  according  to  the 
integrity  that  is  in  me."  Who  can  understand  like 
him,  the  meaning  of  that  word — "  And  the  work  of 
righteousness  shall  be  peace,  and  the  effect  of  right- 
eousness, quietness  and  assurance  forever."  Here  too — 
2.  Is  the  ground  of  all  failures,  and  all  highest  suc- 
cesses in  religion,  or  the  Christian  life.  Only  to  be  an 
honest  man,  in  this  highest  and  genuinely  Christian 
sense,  signifies  a  great  deal  more  than  most  of  us  ever 
conceive.  We  make  room  for  laxity  here  that  we  may 
let  in  grace,  and  do  not  hold  ourselves  to  that  real  in- 
tegrity that  is  wanted,  to  receive,  or  obtain,  or  be  in, 
that  grace.  O  how  loosely,  irresponsibly,  carnally,  do 
many  Christians  live — covetous,  sensual,  without  self 
government,  eager  to  be  on  high  terms  with  the  world, 
praying,  as  it  were  in  the  smoke  of  their  vanities  and 
passions,  making  their  sacrifices  in  a  way  of  compound- 


INTEGRITY    AND    GRACE.  193 

ing  with  their  obligations.  Little  do  they  conceive, 
me. in  time,  how  honest  a  man  must  be  to  pray,  how 
benrtily,  simply,  totally,  he  must  mean  what  he  prays 
for.  Perhaps  he  prays  much,  prays  in  private,  prays  in 
public  and  has  it  for  a  continual  wonder  that  he  gets 
on  so  poorly,  and  that  God,  for  some  mysterious  reason, 
dees  not  answer  his  prayers !  Sometimes  he  will  even 
be  a  little  heart-broken  by  his  failures,  and  will  moisten 
his  face  with  tears  of  complaint.  He  has  made  great 
struggles,  it  may  be,  at  times,  to  freshen  the  fire  that 
was  burning  in  him,  and  yet,  for  some  reason,  he  is  all 
the  while  losing  ground.  His  faith  becomes  a  hand,  as 
it  were,  without  fingers,  laying  hold  of  nothing.  The 
more  he  pumps  at  the  well  of  his  joys,  the  drier  he 
grows.  It  is  as  if  there  were  some  dread  fatality  against 
him,  and  he  wonders  where  it  is.  Commonly  it  is  here — 
that  he  w^ants  rectitude.  He  is  trying  to  be  piouslj^  ex- 
ercised in  his  feeling,  when  he  is  slack  in  his  integrity. 
He  has  been  so  much  afraid  of  being  self-righteous,  it 
may  be,  that  he  is  not  righteous  at  all.  When  he  is 
loose  at  the  conscience,  how  can  he  be  clear  in  his 
feeling  ? 

Perhaps  he  has  conceived  a  higher  standing  in  reli- 
gion, a  state  of  attainment  where  his  soul  shall  be  in 
liberty,  and  has  tried  for  whole  months,  possibly  for 
years,  to  reach  it,  and  yet  he  finds  it  not.  He  begins 
to  imagine,  not  unlikely,  that  no  such  thing  is  for 
him — God's  sovereignty  is  against  him,  and  he  must  be 
c(>ntent  to  stay  in  that  lower  plane  that  God  has  ap- 
pointed him.  "  God  never  means,"  he  will  say,  "  that 
17 


194  INTEGRITY    AND    GRACE. 

I  should  be  mucli  of  a  Christian — that  is  given  ).o  oth 
ers  that  have  a  higher  calling."  Now  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  here  again  is  the  root  of  his  difficulty — that  his 
projected  attainments  are  clear  ahead  of  his  i/itegrity. 
Some  traitor  is  hid  in  his  soul's  chamber's  that  is  ke])t. 
there,  and  carefully  fed.  What  is  wanting  is  the  inte- 
ger of  a  clear,  undivided  intent.  Honesty !  honesty ! 
0  that  Christian  men,  saying  nothing  of  others,  could 
understand  how  much  it  means,  and  the  wonderful 
power  it  has !  We  connive  at  evil  and  do  it  so  cun- 
ningly that  we  do  not  know  it.  Our  eye  is  evil,  we 
regard  iniquity  in  our  heart,  therefore  do  we  fail  in 
our  prayers,  therefore  do  we  lose  ground,  therefore  are 
we  baffled  and  floored  in  all  our  attempts  to  rise.  But 
it  is  not  so  when  we  have  the  single  eye.  Such  power 
is  there  in  this  integrity,  when  it  is  real,  that,  making 
faith  real,  it  makes  all  gifts  attainable.  God  loves  the 
honest  mind,  hears  the  honest  prayer,  pours  all  his  ful- 
ness into  the  honest  bosom.  No  great  flights  of  ec- 
static feeling  are  wanted,  frames  carry  nothing,  but 
that  silent,  sound  integrity,  which  poises  the  soul  on 
its  pivot  of  truth  and  self-approbation,  is  so  mighty  that 
it  wins  its  w^ay  to  God  through  all  obstacles.  Here  is 
the  secret  after  all,  of  the  true  success  in  every  case. 
Success  is  the  fixed  destiny  of  any  soul  that  has  once 
reached  the  point  of  whole  intent.  No  one  need  be 
troubled  about  his  frames,  or  fluctuations,  or  even  what 
a])pear  to  be  his  losing  moods,  if  only  he  can  stay  by 
his  conscience  firmly  enough  to  say,  "  Judge  me  0  Lord 
jwxording  to  mine  integrity.''     Here  then,  brethren,  is 


INTEGRITY    AND    GRACE.  195 

the  spot  where  you  are  to  make  ytav  revision,  find 
what  your  intent  is,  whether  it  is  honest  and  whole  and 
clea'n,  warped  by  no  ambiguities,  divided  and  stolen 
away  by  no  idols.  Here  the  Achan  will  be  hid,  if  any 
where.  Make  sure  of  his  dislodgment,  and  your  way 
is  clear.  Then  your  faith  will  be  faith,  your  prayers 
wiJ]  be  prayers ;  every  thing  will  have  its  genuine  mean- 
ing, and  Grod.  will  be  revealed  in  every  thing  you  do. 
I  proceed  now 

8.  To  another  very  important  deduction,  viz.,  that 
every  man  who  comes  into  a  state  of  right  intent,  or  is 
set  to  be  a  real  integer  in  the  right,  will  forthwith  also 
be  a  Christian.  There  is  apt  to  be  much  pride  in  men 
not  religious,  on  the  score  of  their  commercial  integrity. 
They  will  find,  if  the}^  search  more  narrowly,  that  they 
still  have  no  right  conscience  in  it.  They  feel  them* 
selves  to  be  inwardly  wTong.  They  live  in  a  state  of 
conscious  disturbance.  They  are  often  consciously  dis- 
ingenuous, as  regards  the  truths  and  claims  of  religion. 
They  have  consciously  a  certain  dread  of  God  which 
harrows  their  peace.  What  I  mean  to  say,  at  present, 
is  that  whoever  gets  a  clear  perception  of  the  state  ot 
wrong  in  which  he  lives,  and  comes  back  into  a  genu- 
inely right  intent,  to  be  carried  just  where  it  will  carry 
him,  sacrifice  what  it  will  cost  him — any  thing  to  be 
right — in  that  man  the  spirit  of  all  sin  is  broken,  and 
his  mind  is  in  a  state  to  lay  hold  of  Christ,  and  be  laid 
hold  of  by  him,  almost  ere  he  is  aware  of  it.  Nor, 
when  I  say  this,  do  I  throw  discredit  on  the  common 
modes  of  expression ;  for  this  exactly  is  the  point  to 


190  INTEGRITY     AND    CtRACE. 

which  every  converted  person  comes,  though  he  may 
not  so  conceive  at  the  time.  One  may  tell  of  his  con- 
victions, another  of  his  fears,  another  of  his  unspeaka- 
ble wants,  one  of  the  prayer  that  he  made  thus  or  thus, 
another  of  the  restitution  or  acknowledgment  he  made 
to  some  one  he  had  wronged,  many  of  their  deep  sor- 
row that  melted  into  joy,  many  others  of  the  despair 
they  came  to  in  their  struggles,  under  which  they  fell 
off  helpless  im  the  hands  of  God's  mercy,  and  behold,  it 
was  deliverance  itself  But  whatever  may  have  been 
the  form  of  exercise,  this  most  assuredly  is  in  it  always, 
consciously,  or  unconsciously  present,  that  there  is  a 
coming  somehow  into  a  state  of  pure  intent,  a  mind  to 
receive  all  truth  and  do  all  right  forever.  And  no  man 
ever  came  to  this^  who  did  not  find  himself,  at  once,  all 
over  in  the  faith  of  Christ,  a  consciously  and  strangely 
new  man. 

Let  me  give  you  a  case,  in  which  this  particular 
point,  in  the  matter  of  conversion  to  God,  will  be  clearly 
distinguished.  There  died,  in  the  city  of  New  York, 
about  ten  years  ago,  a  distinguished  merchant,  and 
much  more  distinguished  saint  of  God,  whose  conver- 
sion was  on  this  wise.  He  was  born  and  brought  up  in 
the  island  of  Santa  Cruz,  belonging  to  a  wealthy  and 
gay  family,  in  which  he  received  no  religious  instruc- 
tion at  all.  He  had  a  naturally  gay,  light,  forceful  char- 
acter, and  scarcely  a  religious  idea.  One  Sunday,  when 
the  family  and  their  guests  went  out  for  a  ride,  he  re- 
mained at  home.  Going  to  the  library  for  something 
to  read,  his  eye  fell  on  a  book  labeled  "  The  Truth  of 


INTEGRITY    AND    GRACE.  197 

Christiamiy  Demonstrated^  He  took  it  down,  sajnng  as 
he  looked  on  the  back  of  it,  "  The  truth  of  Christianity 
demonstrated — the  truth  of  Christianity  demonstrated 
— well  if  it  is,  I  ought  to  believe  it  and  live  it,  and— 
I  WILL.  Let  me  try  the  book  and  see."  Sitting  down, 
at  that  point,  he  opened  the  book  and  began  to  read, 
and  though  it  was  an  argument  only,  giving  no  par- 
ticular appeal  to  feeling,  he  was  surprised  to  find  a 
Btrange  brightness  of  light  on  the  words.  Holy  con- 
viction flowed  in  upon  him,  a  wondrous  love  waked  up 
in  his  feeling,  a  still  more  wondrous  bliss  dawned  upon 
his  love,  and  in  a  very  few  minutes,  it  seemed  that  the 
helm  of  his  nature  was  somehow  taken  by  a  mysterious 
power  he  could  not  resist.  The  joy  of  the  change, 
which  he  did  not  understand,  or  conceive,  was  so  great 
as  to  prove  its  reality ;  he  could  never,  from  that  mo- 
ment, shake  off  the  conviction  of  his  being  quite 
another  man.  What  it  was  to  be  a  Christian  he  did  not 
know,  but  he  knew  that  he  was  something,  which  to 
lose,  or  cease  to  be,  he  could  as  little  think  of  as  losing 
his  life.  When  the  riding  party  came  back,  he  began 
forthwith  to  let  out  his  joy,  tell  his  wonder,  testify  of 
Christ,  just  as  he  would  of  any  good,  gay  time  he 
liad  had  before.  The}^  were  astonished,  some  of  them 
doubted  whether  he  was  not  somehow  beside  himself. 
But  there  was  no  slack  in  his  flame,  he  went  on  like  the 
j  ust,  growing  brighter  and  brighter.  There  was  no  ap- 
pearance of  sanctimony,  no  cant,  he  was  the  same 
outspoken,  social,  manly  youth,  that  he  had  been. 
Hungering  finally  after  some  religious  society,  he  man- 


198  INTEGRITY    AND    GRACE. 

aged  to  remove  to  Philadelpbia,  where  he  found  leach 
ing  and  sjmpath}^,  and  great  works  of  duty.  He  w^ent 
once  to  the  theater,  once  to  a  ball,  having  no  scruples 
about  the  right  of  it,  and  scarce  knowing  that  he  could 
have.  But  he  never  went  again,  simply  because  it  did 
not  meet  his  feeling,  and  gave  him  no  pleasure.  He 
finally  came  to  a  settlement  in  New  York,  where  he  was 
known  many  years  as  a  man  of  dignity  and  power, 
nobly  free  and  joyous,  fond  of  the  young,  and  open  to 
all  humblest  minds  wanting  counsel,  the  most  distin- 
guished mark  and  brightest  ornament  ever  known  in 
the  churches  of  that  great  city.  From  first  to  last  his 
Christian  life  was  but  a  hymn. 

At  what  point  now  did  this  remarkable  servant  of 
God  pass  his  conversion  ?  Not  when  he  was  reading 
the  book,  but  when  he  was  looking  on  the  back  of  it ; 
for  there  it  was,  in  that  little  deliberation  on  the  label, 
and  the  nobly  honest  conclusion  he  accepted  concerning 
it,  that  his  soul  took  hold  of  integrity,  and  sin  was  all 
reversed !  The  mere  resolve  to  accept  it,  if  true,  de- 
cided all.  And  therefore  it  was  that  Christ  met  him  in 
the  book,  with  a  revelation  so  blessed.  Doubtless  it 
was  the  Spirit  of  God,  working  unseen,  that  drew  him 
out  in  the  previous  parley  on  the  label ;  and  every  step 
of  the  change,  nay,  of  his  whole  life,  was  in  some  sense, 
worked  by  a  power  superior  to  his  own  mere  will. 
And  yet  he  had  a  will,  by  that  consented  to  believe 
what  is  true,  and  live  it  in  his  life. 

Now  there  is  no  man  in  this  audience,  how^ever 
remote  lie  may  have  been  from  the  thought  of  being  a 


INTEGRITY    AND    GRACE.  199 

Christian,  when  he  came  into  this  place  of  worship  to- 
day, who  has  any  thing  more  to  do,  in  order  to  be  one, 
than  to  just  come  into  the  same  really  honest  mind. 
You  can  not  will  to  believe  what  is  true,  and  do  all 
right,  as  fast  as  you  can  find  it  and  forever,  and  go  out 
hence  in  your  sins.  Are  you  not  ready  my  friends  for 
t]iis  new  and  nobler  kind  of  life  ?  Can  you  lie  down  to- 
night and  sleep  outside  of  this  blessed  integrity  ?  How 
can  you  think  of  yourself  with  respect,  as  not  being 
a  Christian,  when  that  which  is  demanded  of  you  ia 
only  what  you  think  you  are  demanding  of  everybody. 
True,  this  integrity  we  speak  of  is  of  a  higher  kind,  and 
more  real ;  is  it  therefore  less  to  be  honored,  and  less 
promptly  chosen? 

And  now  in  conclusion  of  my  subject,  I  will  only  lay 
down  God's  indorsement  upon  it  and  upon  all  that  I 
have  said,  in  a  single,  but  remarkable  sentence  of  scrip- 
ture. I  wish  it  might  be  remembered,  and  stay  by  you 
always,  even  from  this  hour  till  your  last — ''For  the 
eyes  of  the  Lord  run  to  and  fro,  through  the  whole 
earth,  to  show  himself  strong  in  behalf  of  them  whose 
heart  is  perfect  toward  him."  This  "perfect  heart" 
means  a  right  conscience,  a  clean,  simple  intent.  And 
the  substance  of  the  declaration  is,  that  God  is  on  the  look- 
out always  for  an  honest  man — him  to  help,  and  with 
him,  and  for  him,  to  be  strong ;  and  if  there  be  one, 
that  God  will  not  miss  of  him ;  for  his  desiring,  all- 
searching  eyes  are  running  the  world  through  always 
to  find  him.  And  when  he  finds  him,  he  will  show 
himself  to  him  in  the  discovery  even  of  his  strength. 


200  INTEGKITF    AND    GRACE. 

I  believe  that  he  has  sometimes  fouud  such  a  man,  even 
in  the  depths  of  heathenism,  and  to  him  been  discov- 
ered as  the  helping  and  strong  friend  he  longed  for. 
Many  a*  skeptic  has  he  flooded  with  light,  because  he 
saw  him  willing,  at  last,  to  be  right,  and  hungering  fc  ;• 
something  true.  This  perfect  heart,  this  soul  of  integ- 
rity, my  friends — 0  if  we  had  but-  this,  what  else  could 
we  fail  of?  I  repeat  the  word  thus  explained — put  it 
down  to  be  with  you,  in  your  struggles  with  sin,  your 
sickness,  your  poverty,  your  Christian  defects  and  dry- 
nesses, all  the  mind-clouds,  all  the  guilt-clouds,  of  your 
mortal  state — "For  the  eyes  of  the  Lord  run  to  and 
fro  through  the  whole  earth  to  show  himself  strong  in 
behalf  of  them  whose  heart  is  perfect  toward  him." 


X. 

LIBERTY  AND  DISCIPLINE. 


"J.S  long  as  they  have  the  hridegroom  vnth  them,  they  can 
not  fast.  But  the  days  will  come,  when  the  hridegroom 
shall  he  taken  away  from  them,  and  then  shall  they  fast  in 
those  daysy — MARK  ii,  19,  20. 

It  is  one  of  the  honorable  distinctions  of  Christ's  doc- 
trine that  he  is  never  one-sided ;  never  taken,  as  men 
are,  with  a  half- view  of  a  subject,  or  a  half-truth  con- 
cerning it.  If  there  is,  for  example,  a  free  side,  or  free 
element,  in  Christian  life  and  experience,  and  also  a 
restrictive  side;  conditions  and  times  of  not  ftisting, 
and  conditions  and  times  of  fasting ;  he  does  not  fall  to 
setting  one  against  the  other,  but  he  comprehends  both, 
and  holds  them  in  a  true  adjustment  of  their  offices  and 
relations.  John's  disciples  come  to  him  in  the  question, 
why  he  does  not  put  his  disciples  to  fasting,  as  their 
own  great  prophet  and  the  Pharisees  do  theirs?  But 
instead  of  making  light  of  fasting,  and  calling  it  an  old, 
ascetic  practice,  now  gone  by,  as  many  human  teachers 
would  have  done,  seeing  only  half  the  truth,  and  rally- 
ing a  party  for  the  part  they  see,  he  simply  reph'es — 
"every  thing  in  its  time;  the  attendants  of  the  bride 


202  LIBERTY    AND    DISCIPLINE. 

groom  will,  of  course  be  wholly  in  the  festive  mood, 
while  the  wedding  is  on  foot,  but  when  it  is  over,  they 
will  fall  into  such  other  key  as  their  personal  condition 
requires.  My  disciples  can  not  fast  while  I  am  with 
tlu)m.  But  when  I  am  takea  up  they  will  turn  them- 
selves to  such  ways  of  fasting  as  their  deprivation,  oi 
berea\ed  feeling  requires." 

His  answer,  taken  more  spiritually,  amounts  to  this : 
that  when  the  love  is  full,  and  the  soul  is  consciously 
gladdened  by  the  present  witness  and  felt  impulse  of 
God,  any  kind  of  restrictive,  or  severely  self-compelling 
discipline  is  inappropriate  or  uncalled  for,  and  is  really 
out  of  place ;  but  that  when  there  is  a  failure  of  such 
divine  impulse,  when  the  soul  is  losing  ground,  brought 
under  by  temptation,  groping  in  dryness  and  obscurity 
of  light,  then  some  sharp  revision  of  the  life,  some  new 
girding  up  of  the  will  in  sacrifice  and  self-discipline,  ia 
urgently  demanded,  and  must  not  be  declined.  In  other 
words,  let  there  be  liberty  in  God  while  there  may, 
girding  up  in  ourselv^es,  by  forced  exercise  and  disci- 
pline, when  there  must ;  let  the  soul  go  by  inspiration 
when  the  gale  of  the  Spirit  is  in  it,  and  when  it  has  any 
way  stifled  or  lost  the  Spirit,  let  it  put  itself  down  upon 
duty  by  the  will ;  when  the  divine  movement  is  upon 
it,  let  it  have  its  festal  day  with  the  bridegroom,  and 
when  the  better  presence  fades  or  vanishes,  let  it  set 
itself  to  ways  of  self-compulsion,  moving  from  its  own 
human  center. 

Much  the  same  general  truth  though  differently  con- 
ceived, is  taught  by  Paul  when  he  represents  the  Chri& 


LIBERTY     AND     DISCIPLINE.  203 

tian  soul  as  a  coin  having  two  seals  or  mottoes,  on  the 
two  sides ;  on  the  obverse,  or  face — "  The  Lord  know- 
eth  them  that  are  his;"  on  the  reverse,  or  back — ''Let 
every  one  that  nameth  the  name  of  Christ  depart  from 
iniquity."  It  is  as  if  divine  calling,  endowment,  and 
hel]»  were  on  one  side;  self-discipline,  watching,  mor- 
tified lusting,  and  steady  resolve,  on  the  other. 

Liberty  and  discipline,  movement  from  God's  center 
and  movement  from  our  own,  sanctified  inclination  and 
self-compelling  will,  are  the  two  great  factors  thus  of 
Christian  life  and  experience.  We  may  figure,  in  a 
certain  coarse  analogy,  that  we  live  in  a  city  having  two 
supplies  of  water  for  its  aqueduct;  one  upon  high 
ground  back  of  it,  whence  the  water  rnns  down  freely 
along  the  inclinations  of  the  surfaces ;  and  the  other  in 
some  lake  or  river  on  its  front ;  whence,  in  case  that 
fails,  or  the  ducts  give  way,  a  supply  is  to  be  received 
by  forcing,  or  the  dead  lift  of  the  pump.  The  water, 
however,  is  not  created  in  this  latter  case,  you  will  ob- 
serve, by  the  enforcement,  but  is  taken,  as  in  the  former, 
from  the  general  supply  of  nature's  store.  So  there  are 
ways  of  Christian  living,  where  every  thing  goes  by  im- 
pulse, and  a  gracious  inspiration  flowing  in,  as  it  were, 
by  its  own  free  motion ;  and  other  ways  and  times, 
where  a  self-compelling  discipline  of  sacrifice  and  pains- 
taking are  wanted  to  regain  the  irrigating  grace  that 
was  practically  lost  or  shut  away,  by  moods  of  incon- 
stancy and  mixtures  of  subjection  to  evil. 

It  is  very  obvious  that  both  these  conceptions  may 
be  abused,  or  pushed  to  excess,  as  in  fact  they  always 


204  LIBERTY    AND    DISCIPLINE. 

are  wh^n  they  are  taken  apart  from  each  other,  anrJ 
made  a  religion  of.  Thus  we  shall  have,  on  one  side, 
just  what  has  many  times  appeared  in  this  or  that  vari- 
ety, a  school  of  enthusiasts,  living  only  in  frames  and 
for  them,  flighty,  rhapsodical,  ecstatic,  moving  in  the 
upper  air  on  wings,  till  such  time  as  they  get  weary  of 
their  thin  element,  and  consent,  for  comfort's  sake,  to 
light  upon  the  ground ;  when,  of  course,  they  do  as  the 
prophet's  living  creatures  did — "when  they  stood 
they  let  down  their  wings."  Perhaps  they  will  spread 
them  again,  and  perhaps  not.  They  are  all  for  inspira- 
tion, or  the  state  of  divine  impulse,  and  nothing  else  is 
to  be  much  accounted  of.  To  be  in  this  elysian  state  is 
piety,  and  if  they  chance  to  fall  out  of  it,  or  sink  away, 
flagging  and  spent,  as  regards  their  good  excitabilities, 
they  have  no  way  of  going  on  foot  to  think  of,  that 
will  prove  their  fidelity,  and  put  them  in  a  sober 
way  of  blessing.  They  have  no  conception  of  a  walk- 
ing with  God  that  is  not  flying  with  him,  and  their 
high  movement  commonly  ends,  where  dissipation 
must,  in  a  state  of  loose  keeping,  disability,  and  general 
collapse. 

On  the  other  side,  where  every  thing  takes  the  shape 
of  will-work  and  discipline,  the  result  will  commonly 
be  quite  as  bad.  Sometimes  the  word  will  be  activity 
and  a  general  campaign  of  doing  will  set  ever}^  thing 
in  a  way  of  tumult,  and  aggressive  motion.  Kesponsi- 
ble  only  for  actign,  action  will  come  to  be  just  the  thing 
most  irresponsibly  done.  Hard,  graceless,  censorious, 
denunciatory,  sometimes  wild,  and  always  unchastened 


LIBERTY    AND    DISCIPJ.INE.  205 

by  fche  love  it  magnifies,  it  keeps  the  conflagration  up 
till  the  combustible  matter  is  burned  awa^^,  and  then 
the  fire  goes  out  of  course.  Sometimes  the  word  is 
sacrifice^  and  then  coi^ies  on  the  dreary  train  of  pen 
aiices,  vigils,  vows  of  celibacy,  mendicancy,  and  the 
pallid  funeral  hosts  marching  out  alive  to  be  entombed 
in  cells.  All  these,  making  up  a  religion  by  their  will, 
and  the  drill  of  their  passionless  obedience,  agree,  in 
fact,  to  make  as  hard  a  time  of  it  as  possible,  and  they 
will  most  fatally  succeed;  for  it  can  not  be  long,  ere  the 
discipline  they  covet  as  a  religion,  breaks  down  both 
will  and  principle  together,  and  shows  them,  alas !  too 
perfect  in  the  training  of  uncharity,  mendacity,  sensu- 
ality, and  lust. 

I  ought  also,  perhaps,  to  name  two  counterfeits  that 
cover  the  ground  of  both  these  particular  excesses. 
Thus,  on  one  side,  the  argument  will  be,  "  why  should  I 
do,  or  attempt  to  do  in  religion,  what  I  can  not  do  in 
liberty,  or  from  inclination  ?  When  I  am  not  inclined 
to  prayer  why  should  I  pray  ?  Why  cross  myself  in 
duties  which  I  only  dislike  ?  Why  put  myself  under 
service  by  rules  that  only  annoy  me,  and  do  not  bless 
me  ?  How  can  I  imagine  that  God  is  pleased  with  me, 
when  he  finds  me  doing  by  compulsion,  what  he  knows 
I  distaste,  and  have  really  no  heart  to?" 

The  assumption  is,  in  this  way  of  speaking,  that 
wlien  there  is  real  inclination  to  the  thing  done,  there  is 
even  something  a  little  remarkable  in  it ;  a  kind  of  su- 
perlative, or  superfine,  merit,  such  as  discharges  all 
thought  of  obligation  respecting  duties  where  such  in- 

18 


206  LIBERTY    AND    DIvSCIPLINE. 

cliriation  fails.  And  yet  the  supposed  inclination,  hav- 
ing so  great  value  as  to  excuse  all  responsibility  for 
inclination  where  there  is  none,  is  even  understood  to 
be  nothing  but  an  occasional  glow  of  sentiment  or  de- 
sire, in  the  plane  of  nature ;  not  any  really  divine  or 
supernaturally  inbreathed  impulse.  It  is  not  of  the 
bridegroom,  raises  no  thought  of  any  festal  flow,  in 
which  Christ  bathes  their  feeling.  It  is  even  the  eud 
of  the  law,  without  Christ,  in  a  much  more  summary 
and  complete  sense  than  Christ  himself  could  be ;  for  it 
not  only  discharges  all  obligation,  but  forbids  any  far- 
ther command — how  can  God  command  what  one  is  not 
inclined  to  already?  and  what  he  is  inclined  to  needs, 
of  course,  no  command. 

The  counterfeit  upon  the  other  side,  is  that  self-reli- 
ant morality,  which  counts  it  a  sufficient,  or  even  a 
rather  superlative  religion,  to  live  in  correct  practice 
under  rules,  and  makes  nothing  of  receiving  from  Grod, 
or  being  in  any  consciously  restored  relationship  with 
him.  Christ  is  engaged  as  a  Saviour,  I  conceive,  to 
connect  human  nature  with  God,  according  to  its  nor- 
mal idea,  and  have  it  regenerated,  as  by  God's  restored 
movement  in  it — born  of  God.  He  wants  to  raise 
again  the  very  plane  of  our  existence,  lifting  us  up  out 
of  mere  self-hood  into  a  state  of  divine  consciousness 
and  beatitude.  This  to  him  and  this  only  is  religion. 
The  beaver  is  not  more  certainly  below  humanity,  than 
the  footing  it  along  by  mere  rules,  is  a  kind  of  life  be- 
low the  grade  of  religion,  or  concourse  with  God.  That 
&io-h  world  of  blessinoj  too,  for  which  Christ  has  imder- 


LIBERTY    AND    DISCIPLINE.  207 

taken  to  prepare  us^  is  not  a  world  of  good  morals,  but 
of  godlj  affinities  and  free  inspirations,  moved,  and 
lif^d,  and  wafted,  and  glorified,  and  always  to  reign  in 
G-»d. 

We  have  then  two  conceptions  of  Christian  life  and 
experience,  which  Christ  holds  comprehensively  to- 
gether, but  which  his  disciples  are  often  trying  to  hold 
separately,  making  a  whole  religion  of  either  one  or  the 
other;  and  then  we  have  a  counterfeit  of  each,  con* 
triving  how  to  make  a  religion  of  each,  without  the 
reality  of  either  one  or  the  other.  Let  us  see  now  if 
we  can  bring  ourselves  back  into  the  conception  of 
Christ,  and  find  how  to  hold  with  him  both  the  two 
sides  at  once ;  setting  both  in  that  genuine  mutual  rela- 
tionship that  belongs  to  them.     There  is  then 

I.  A  ruling  conception  of  the  Christian  life,  which  is 
called  having  the  bridegroom  present ;  a  state  of  right 
inclination  established,  in  which  the  soul  has  an  imme- 
diate knowledge,  or  consciousness  of  God,  and  is 
swayed  in  liberty,  by  his  all-moving,  supernatural, 
inspirations.  This  kind  of  state,  if  it  were  complete,  as 
it  never  is  in  this  world,  would,  of  itself,  be  the  all  of 
perfection  and  of  blessedness.  The  whole  aim  of  Chris- 
tianity is  fulfilled  in  this  alone.  No  other  kind  of  ser- 
vice,  taken  by  itself,  at  all  meets  the  Christian  idea. 
Self-compelling  ways  of  discipline,  resolve,  self-regula- 
tion, body-government,  soul-governi  lent,  carried  on  by 
the  will  ma}^  be  wanted — I  shall  presently  show  in 
what  manner — but  no  possible  amount  of  such  doings 
can  make  up  a  Christian  virtue,  and,  if  such  virtue 


208  LIBERTY    AND    DISCIPLINE. 

were  perfect,  thej  would  not  even  be  included  in  it. 
Every  thing  in  genuine  Christianity  goes  for  the  free 
inclination.  Here  begins  the  true  nobility  or  princely 
rank  of  God's  sons  and  daughters,  and  they  will  be 
complete,  when  their  inclination  is  wholly  to  good  and 
to  God.  They  strike  the  point  of  magnanimity,  when 
they  do  the  right,  as  God  does,  because  they  simply 
love  the  right — bearing  burdens,  because  it  is  the  nature 
of  love  to  bear  them,  making  sacrifices,  never  from 
fear,  interest,  self-consideration,  always  for  God's  great 
ends  of  mercy  and  blessing.  The  bridegroom  joy  is 
now  upon  them,  because  their  duty  is  become  their  fes- 
tivity with  Christ.  Perfected  in  this  duty  and  joy, 
they  are  complete  in  God's  everlasting  beatitude;  for 
there  is  no  wear  of  friction  in  such  duty,  but  eternal 
liberty  and  play  rather.     What  then 

II.  Is  the  place,  or  office,  or  value  of  that  whole  side 
of  will  and  self-discipline,  which  Christ  himself  assumes 
the  need  of,  when  the  bridegroom  is  to  be  taken  away? 
Here  is  the  main  stress  of  our  subject,  and  upon  the 
right  solution  of  this  point,  its  uses  will  principally 
depend. 

There  is  then,  I  undertake  to  say,  one  general  purpose, 
or  office,  in  all  doings  of  will,  on  the  human  side  of  Chris- 
tian experience,  viz.,  the  ordering  of  the  soul  in  fit  position 
for  God,  that  he  may  occupy  it,  have  it  in  his  power,  sway 
it  by  his  inspirations.  No  matter  what  the  kind  of  doing 
to  which  we  are  called,  or  commanded ;  whether  it  be 
self-government,  or  self-renunciation,  or  holy  resolve,  or 
fasting,  or  steadfast  waiting,  the  end  is  one  and  the 


LIBERTY    AND    DISCIPLINE.  209 

game,  the  getting  in  position  for  God's  occupancy.  As 
the  navigator  of  a  ship  does  nothing  for  the  voyage, 
save  what  he  does  by  setting  the  ship  to  her  course,  and 
her  sails  to  the  wind,  so  our  human  doings  in  rehgion, 
tliose  I  mean,  which  make  up  our  self-compelHng,  self- 
adjusting,  self-constraining  discipline,  are  all  to  be  con- 
cerned in  setting  us  before  God,  in  the  way  to  receive 
the  actuating  impulse  of  his  will  and  character.  We 
are  not  called,  of  course,  to  work  a  religion  thus,  our- 
selves, or  by  our  own  will.  Setting  sails  to  the  wind 
does  not  propel  the  ship,  or  give  it  the  least  onward 
movement,  as  regards  the  voyage;  and  yet,  without 
such  holding  of  it  in  position,  the  voyage  could  never 
be  made.  So  also  a  seed  must  have  position,  else  it 
can  not  grow ;  if  it  is  laid  on  a  rock,  or  buried  in  sand, 
or  sunk  in  water,  or  frozen  up  in  ice,  it  will  be  inert  as 
a  stone ;  but  in  good  warm  soil,  and  sun,  and  rain,  and 
dew,  it  will  quicken  easily  enough,  because  it  is  in  po- 
sition. A  tree  will  die  out  of  position,  a  clock  will 
stop  out  of  position,  a  plough  wants  holding,  a  saw 
wants  guiding,  a  compass  wants  setting ;  nothing  in  the 
world  works  rightly  that  has  not  position  given  it. 
And  the  reason  is  that  every  thing  to  be  operated  upon 
must  be  fitly  presented  to  that  which  operates ;  tele- 
scopes to  their  objects,  mills  to  water-falls,  and  souls  to 
God. 

And  here  is  our  particular  human  part  in  religion — 
all  that  we  can  do  is  summed  up  in  self-presentation  to 
God,  or  the  putting  of  ourselves  in  position  for  his  ope- 
ration     Hence  the  call  to  salvation  is  "come,"  and  the 

18* 


210  LIBERTY    AND    DISCIPLINE. 

complaint  is,  "  ye  will  not  come  to  me  that  ye  might 
have  life.'  So  also,  when  the  casting  down  of  pride 
and  self- will  is  required,  the  forsaking  of  all  things,  the 
yielding  up  of  life  and  whatever  is  most  dear,  these 
ways  of  self-renunciation  are  only  the  taking  down  of 
bars  thnt  fence  away  God's  entrance  and  free  move- 
ment from  the  soul.  Faith  ag^ain  is  made  the  condition 
of  salvation,  in  just  this  view,  and  no  other;  because, 
when  a  sinning  soul  trusts  itself  up  to  Christ,  to  be 
cared  for,  regenerated  in  good,  and  saved  by  his  mercy, 
it  IS  put  in  exactly  the  position  toward  God  that  is  most 
open,  and  admits  him  most  freely ;  even  as  the  brazen 
serpent,  lifted  up  before  Israel,  was  to  be  effective  in 
their  healing,  when  looked  upon.  Out  of  position, 
with  their  backs  toward  it,  there  was  no  virtue  to  be 
received  from  it,  because  there  was  none  expected  or 
admitted. 

So  it  is  in  the  matter  always  of  conversion,  or  the 
beginning  of  a  new  life — it  is  always  begun,  just  as 
soon  as  the  subject  comes  into  position  far  enough  to  let 
it  be.  And  then  the  same  holds  true  of  all  proper 
Christian  doings  afterward — they  are  all  summed  up, 
either  in  keeping  position  toward  God,  or  in  regaining 
it  after  it  is  lost.  Thus,  if  by  reason  of  a  still  partially 
remaining  subjection  to  evil,  the  soul  should  be  stolen 
away  from  its  fidelitj^  and  the  nuptial  day  of  its  liberty 
should  somehow  be  succeeded  by  a  void,  dry  state, 
without  any  proper  light  or  evidence  left,  then  the  dis- 
ciple has  it  given  him  to  recover  himself,  by  getting 
himself  in  position  again  before  God.     He  will  take 


LIBER  x'Y    AND    DISCI]*  LINE.  21i 

time  by  forcible  resolve,  and  gird  himself  to  a  careful 
revision.  He  will  set  himself  upon  his  idols  to  cleai 
them  away,  take  up  his  cross  invoking  sacrifice  itself  to 
})e  his  helper,  rectify  his  misjudgments,  make  good  his 
injuries,  slay  his  resentments  and  grudges,  mortify  his 
appetites,  crucify  his  bosom  sins,  tear  open  all  the  sub- 
tleties of  distemper  and  treason — watching  all  the  while 
his  new  beginnings,  saving  carefully  his  little  advances, 
doing  first  works  humbly  and  tenderly,  and  by  this 
drawing  into  position,  will,  if  possible,  make  ready  for 
the  festal  coming  of  his  Lord,  and  the  restored  liberty 
of  a  son. 

In  this  kind  of  struggle  the  disciple  will  get  on 
most  effectively,  when  for  the  time,  he  is  much  by 
himself,  and  much  apart  from  the  world,  and  even  its 
pleasurable  scenes  and  gifts.  In  one  view,  there  will 
be  a  certain  violence,  or  desperation  sometimes  in  the 
fight  of  his  repentances.  "For  behold  what  careful- 
ness it  wrought  in  you ;  yea  what  clearing  of  your- 
selves ;  yea  what  indignation ;  yea  what  fear ;  yea  what 
vehement  desire ;  yea  what  zeal ;  yea  what  revenge." 
By  these  stern  rigors  of  will,  these  mighty  throes  of 
battle,  the  disciple  out  of  liberty  will  in  fact  be  only 
putting  himself  in  position  to  recover  it.  He  takes 
himself  in  hand  in  fiery  self-chastening,  and  rigidly  en- 
forced subjection,  that  he  may  prepare  himself  to  God' 
help.  He  gets  confidence  in  this  manner,  by  his  thor- 
oughness, to  believe  that  God  accepts  him,  and  has  the 
testimony  given  him  that  he  pleases  God.  Kestored  in 
this  manner  to  his  liberty,  the  enemy  that  came  in  at  the 


212  LIBERTY    AND    DISCIPLINE. 

postern  goes  out  at  the  front,  and  God  again  will  have 
his  full  dominion. 

Neither  let  any  one  object  that  all  such  stresses  and 
strains  of  endeavor  must  be  without  merit,  because  thej 
are  forced  and  are,  in  one  sense,  without  inclination. 
Such  kind  of  endeavor  God  honors  because  it  is  prac- 
tical, and  not  for  the  merit  of  it.  What  should  he 
more  certainly  honor  than  the  true  endeavor  of  souls 
to  present  themselves  to  him,  and  get  position  for  the 
complete  admission  of  his  will.  If  these  struggles  of 
enforcement  do  not  belong  to  the  perfect  state  of  good, 
it  must  be  enough  that  they  are  struggles  after  that 
state.  God  is  practical,  and  without  prudishness;  if 
nothing  is  really  good  to  him  that  is  not  from  the  heart's 
inclination,  he  will  yet  be  drawn  to  such  struggles 
against  inclination,  as  he  is  to  the  cries  of  the  ravens, 
and  will  put  his  benediction  upon  them,  under  that 
same  fatherly  impulse,  if  no  other. 

Holy  scripture  has  no  such  dainty  way  of  reasoning 
in  this  matter,  as  they  give  us,  who,  by  affected  rever- 
ence, excuse  themselves  from  all  rough  discipline,  be- 
cause they  have  no  inclination  for  it.  It  even  com- 
mands us  to  serve,  when  we  are  not  in  a  key  to  reign. 
"  Mortify  therefore,  your  members  which  are  upon  the 
earth" — do  men  mortify  themselves  by  inclination? 
"Ye  have  crucified  the  flesh  with  its  affections  and 
lusts" — do  we  this  self-crucifying  by  inclination? 
*•  Deny  thyself,  take  up  thy  cross  " — do  we  deny  our- 
selves by  inclination,  or  take  up  the  cross  for  inclina- 
tion's sake?     When  Christ  again,  to  get  a  certain  rich 


LIBERTY    AND    DISCIPLINE.  213 

moralist  or  formalist  into  position  for  God,  bids  liim  sell 
all  that  he  has  and  give  to  the  poor  and  come  and  fol- 
low— whereupon  he  "  goes  away  sorrowful  " — does 
the  sad  questioner  sorrow  because  he  is  required  to 
have  his  inclination  ?  The  Saviour  too  has  even  a  more 
cutting  requirement  than  this — "  And  if  thy  right  eye 
offend  thee  pluck  it  out ;  if  thy  right  hand  offend  thee 
cut  it  off."  Is  there  any  thing  in  which  we  are  farther 
off  from  inclination,  than  in  plucking  out  right  eyes  and 
cutting  off  right  hands?  What  in  fact  is  the  very 
point  of  the  Saviour's  meaning  here  but  to  say,  pur. 
your  will  down  upon  whatever  is  hardest  and  most 
against  your  inclinations — any  thing  for  position. 

How  feeble,  superficial,  sophistical,  and  withal  how 
very  like  to  a  practical  mockery  of  all  deep  movement 
in  religion  is  that  word  so  often  ventured,  and  of  which 
I  have  already  spoken — "  Why  should  I  pra}^  when  I 
do  not  feel  inclined  to  it?  Why  should  I  go  to  church, 
why  should  I  read  the  scriptures,  why  should  I  give 
alms,  why  should  I  hold  myself  to  observances,  all 
which  I  am  weary  of,  and  in  fact  really  dislike?  If  I 
can  not  offer  God  from  the  heart,  what  better  is  my 
offering  given  than  withheld  ?  Just  contrary  to  all  such 
feeble  platitudes  Christ,  we  have  seen,  appoints  a 
grandly  rugged,  thoroughly  real,  massive  discipline, 
by  which  souls,  at  best  only  half  inserted  into  good  are 
to  hold  on  their  way,  and  press  themselves  down  upon 
the  constancy  their  fickle  hearts  would  fly.  Filling 
them  to  the  full,  if  he  possibly  may  with  holy  inspira- 
tions and  loving  impulses,  he  counts  even  this  a  gospel 


214  LIBERTY    AND    DISCIPLINE. 

on  one  foot,  if  he  may  not  also  put  them  every  man 
to  a  hard  fight  of  discipline,  and  watch,  and  drill  and 
resisting  even  unto  blood.  When  the  inspiration  ia 
upon  them,  he  will  let  the  festive  movement  flow  in  its 
liberty.  And  when  the  grace-power  lulls  or  is  gone,  he 
will  have  them  take  their  turn  of  discipline,  to  gather 
up  by  their  will,  and  bring  into  position  for  God's  occu- 
panc}^,  all  their  vagrant  and  unsteady  functions ;  so  to 
strengthen  the  things  that  remain  and  are  ready  to  die. 
These  two  things,  in  fact,  he  will  hold,  if  possible,  at 
all  times,  to  a  close  and  practically  guarded  comprehen- 
sion, the  festive  and  the  restrictive,  the  movement  of 
love  and  the  self-girding  watch. 

But  I  should  not  produce  any  just  impression  of  the  im- 
mense reach  of  this  very  practical  matter — the  so  ordering 
of  our  life,  on  the  side  of  self-discipline,  as  to  be  always 
squaring  ourselves  to  God,  and  holding  true  position 
before  him — if  I  did  not  specify  some  of  the  humbler 
and  more  common  matters  in  which  it  is  to  be,  or  may 
be,  done. 

Order,  for  example — how  great  a  thing  is  it  for  a 
Christian,  or  indeed,  for  any  one,  to  keep  his  life  and 
practice  and  business  in  the  terms  of  order?  Holding 
himself  steady,  and  squaring  his  habit  thus  carefully 
b}^  sj^stem  in  God's  will,  his  very  order  is  itself  posi- 
tion— the  orbit  he  traverses  having  God  to  trav- 
erse it  with  him ;  and  the  worlds  of  the  sky  will  not  be 
more  surely  and  steadily  moved  in  their  rounds,  than 
he  by  God's  impelling  liberty.  Fallen  out  of  this 
order  into  all   disorder  and  confusion,  how  can  he  ever 


LIBERTY    AND    DISCIPLINE.  215 

be  in  position  for  God,  till  lie  comes  back  into  the  ex- 
actness and  true  discipline  of  the  same  ? 

A  responsible  way  has  the  same  kind  of  value.  An 
irresponsible  man  has  no  place  for  God  or  God's  lib(  rty. 
But  a  soul  that  stays  fast  in  concern  for  all  good  things — 
responsible  for  the  church,  for  the  brethren,  for  the  wel- 
fare and  salvation  of  perishing  men,  for  the  vices  and 
woes  of  society,  for  the  good  of  the  country — is  just  so 
far  in  position  with  God,  and  ready  for  his  best  in- 
spirations. God  loves  responsible  men,  and  delights 
to  keep  them  in  the  full  endowment  of  strength  and 
liberty. 

Openness  and  boldness  for  God,  the  readiness  to  be 
found  on  God's  side  ia  the  full  acknowledgment  of  his 
name  and  people,  is  an  absolute  requisite,  as  regards  the 
effective  revelation  of  God  in  the  soul.  Whoever  will 
not  thus  acknowledge  God,  in  a  bold  commitment  of 
himself  before  the  world  to  his  cause,  wants  the  firm 
courage  and  manly  truth  of  feeling  which  puts  him  in 
position.  Eeal  and  bold  devotement  is  magnanimity, 
and  where  there  is  nothing  of  one,  there  is  nothing  of 
the  other — as  little  receptivity  therefore  for  God.  God 
loves  to  be  trusted,  and  loves  the  men  that  can  boldly 
take  their  part  with  him.  When  they  stand  openl}^  for 
his  name,  he  stands  by  them,  and  puts  his  might  upon 
them. 

Descending  to  what  is  in  a  still  humbler  key,  let  me 
gpeak  of  honesty — how  a  large  and  faithfully  complete 
honesty  puts  every  soul  in  true  position  before  God.  A 
single  eye — ^that  is  honesty ;  and  "  if  thine  eye  be  sin- 


216  LIBERTY    AND    DISCIPl  INE. 

p;le,  thy  whole  body  shall  be  full  of  light."  But  the 
honest}^  of  which  I  thus  speak,  is  more  and  higher,  you 
will  observe,  than  mere  commercial  honesty.  That  will 
do  justice  to  customers  and  laws  of  trade,  but  not  to 
en(3mies,  and  least  of  all,  to  God.  There  is  no  reality 
in  it  therefore,  more  than  there  would  be  in  doing  jus- 
tice to  customers  of  one  country,  or  color,  and  not  to 
those  of  another.  Called  honesty  in  the  market,  it  still 
may,  and,  many  times,  certainly  is,  hypocrisy  and  a  lie. 
Real  honesty  takes  in  principle,  engaging  to  do  justice 
every  where,  every  way,  every  day,  and  specially  to 
God's  high  truth  and  God.  0,  what  a  presentation  that, 
to  invite  the  incoming  of  God !  Who  is  in  position  for 
God  but  he  that  will  clear  himself,  thus  impartially,  of 
every  wrong  and  injury  ;  and  how  certainly  will  God's 
spirit  flow  into  such  a  bosom,  in  how  full  a  tide  of  lib- 
erty !  How  completely  open  here  is  the  gate  of  possi- 
bility for  all  greatest  and  divinest  things  I 

I  could  speak  of  things  yet  humbler  and  more  com- 
mon; such,  for  example,  as  dress  and  society.  These 
are  matters  which  we  commonly  put  even  outside  of 
the  pale  of  religious  concern,  or  responsibility.  And 
yet  there  is  how  much  in  them  to  fix  the  soul's  position 
toward  God.  How  perfectly  evident  is  it  that  one  ma? 
dress  for  the  Holy  Spirit  and  the  modest  opening  of  the 
soul  to  God's  manifestation ;  or  so  as  to  quite  shut  away 
any  possible  visitation  from  the  divine.  In  the  same 
way,  society  may  be  observed  in  such  a  way  of  sobriety 
and  grandly  true  hospitality,  that  angels,  much  more 
Christ  and  God,  will  gather  to  it  unawares ;  or  in  such 


LIBERTY    AND    DISCIPLINE.  217 

a  way  of  ambition,  flashiness,  and  worldly  assumption, 
that  the  Holy  Spirit  can  not  get  room  in  it  for  any 
smallest  dispensation  of  his  gracious  impulse.  I  speak 
DOt  here  for  any  sumptuary,  or  morbidly  scrupulous,  re- 
striction. I  only  say  that  there  may  be  enough,  in  the 
modes  of  dress  and  society,  to  quite  settle  the  matter  of 
the  soul's  position  toward  God. 

Not  pursuing  these  illustrations  further,  it  must  be 
enough  that  we  have  found,  and  practically  verified, 
two  elements  in  Christian  life  and  experience,  liberty 
and  discipline,  God's  free  movement  and  our  own  self 
constraining  will.  That  is  the  heavenly  state  of  bless- 
ing and  perfection  ;  this  our  human  concern  to  get,  as  in 
conversion,  recover,  as  in  dryness  and  decay,  or  keep,  as 
in  all  most  ordinary  goings  on  of  life,  the  position  toward 
God  that  commands  his  bestowment  of  the  other. 

But  what,  of  fasting?  the  very  thing  about  which  my 
text  is  itself  concerned,  and  about  which  I  have  said  as 
nearly  nothing  as  possible.  In  one  view  it  is  even  so ; 
in  another  I  have  been  speaking  of  nothing  else ;  for 
the  whole  course  of  argument  pursued  has  been  tracing 
its  fit  place  and  relationship,  as  an  integral  part,  or  fac- 
tor, of  the  true  Christian  discipline. 

Are  we  then  to  allow,  some  will  ask,  that  fasting  be- 
longs to  Christianity  ?  I  certainly  think  so.  Did  not 
Christ  himself  declare  that  his  disciples  should  fast 
after  he  was  gone?  Did  he  not  also  begin  his  great 
ministry,  by  a  protracted  fast,  which  duly  considered, 
and  rightly  conceived,  constitutes  one  of  the  grandest 
19 


218  LIBEKTY    AND    DISCIPLINE. 

and  most  impressive  chapters  of  bis  story  ?  It  is  easy, 
doubtless,  to  assume,  in  self-compliment,  that  we  have 
now  come  to  an  age  of  maturity  that  permits  us  to  con- 
ceive the  Christian  grace  more  worthily ;  but  no  such 
assumption  will  be  very  impressive  as  against  the  ex- 
ample of  Christ  himself!  Some  will  also  maintain, 
more  argumentatively,  that  fasting  is  a  bodil}^  penance, 
excluded  by  the  genius  of  Christianity;  but  when 
Christ  is  heard,  in  his  great  first  sermon,  discoursing 
of  it  just  as  he  does  of  prayer  and  of  alms,  and  giving 
it  exactly  the  same  promise  of  reward,  the  conclusion 
appears  to  be  not  far  off"  that,  either  they  do  not,  or 
Christ  did  not,  understand  Christianity ! 

It  is  a  great  mistake  of  many,  in  our  time,  that 
they  are  so  easily  carried  by  a  certain  half-illuminated 
declamation  against  asceticism.  Let  us  have  nerve 
enough  to  withstand  the  odium  of  a  word,  and  be  less 
superficial,  and  just  as  much  stronger  in  our  prfictical 
life.  For  there  is — I  put  the  issue  boldly  that  it  may 
not  be  missed — a  good  asceticism  that  belongs  to  Chris- 
tianity, as  a  worthy  and  even  rationally  integral  func- 
tion ;  the  same  which  an  apostle  describes  when  he 
says,  "I  exercise  myself  (aCxw)  to  have  a  conscience 
void  of  offense."  By  which  he  means  that  he  pats 
himself  to  it  by  the  direct  training  of  his  will,  even  aa 
.a  rider  trains  a  horse  by  the  rein. 

In  this  good  asceticism,  we  take  ourselves  away 
purposely,  when  it  seems  to  be  needed,  from  soci 
ety,  from  gain,  and  from  animal  indulgence,  thai 
we  may  assert,  with  more  emphasis,  the  principle  of 


LIBERTY    AND    DISCIPLINE.  219 

self-subjection  to  God,  or  gird  ourselves  anew  to  the 
divine  keeping.  Thrusting  down  a  whole  side  of  our 
nature  that  habituaLy  assumes  to  be  uppermost,  w^e  get 
in  this  manner  a  powerful  shove  of  reaction ;  for  the 
great  law  of  action  and  reaction  holds  universally,  both 
in  the  worlds  of  matter  and  mind.  In  this  manner 
painstaking  itself  is  a  great  element  of  success;  not 
because  it  is  the  taking  of  so  much  pain,  as  if  there 
were  some  merit  in  that,  but  because  the  mind  gets  a 
confidence  of  honest  meaning  in  it,  such  as  nerves  the 
soul  to  sacrifice,  and  gives  it  assurance  with  God. 
Christianity,  as  I  have  shown,  takes  in  this  element. 
Filling  us  with  great  inspirations,  it  puts  us  to  a  stout 
self-discipline  also,  that  we  may  get  position  for  still 
greater,  and  a  still  more  victorious  liberty. 

Over  against  this  good  asceticism,  there  is  also  a 
false  and  a  bad,  as  already  intimated.  It  makes  a  vir- 
tue of  self- torment,  contrives  artificial  distresses  to 
move  on  God's  pity,  or  pacify  his  resentments,  or  pur- 
chase his  favor.  It  macerates  the  body  to  make  the 
soul  weak  and  tender.  It  dispenses,  in  fact,  with 
faith  itself,  and  even  thinks  to  square  its  account 
with  God,  by  a  due  contribution  of  bodily  pains  and 
privations. 

This  bad  asceticism  we  exclude,  the  good  we  accept. 
And  in  this,  we  shall  train  ourselves,  sometimes  even 
naturally,  by  a  fast.  If  we  are  mortified  by  the  dis- 
covery that  the  body  is  getting  uppermost,  if  our 
Sundays  are  choked,  our  great  sentiments  stifled,  by 
indulgences  of  the  body   we  meant  not  to  allow,  we 


220  LIBERTY    AND    DTSCIPLIXE. 

sliall  turn  upon  it  in  this  good  asceticism,  and  say  to  itj 
with  a  meaning — "I  keep  under  the  body."  In  the 
same  waj^,  if  we  can  not  find  how  to  bear  an  enemy,  if 
we  recoil  from  sacrifices  that  are  plainly  laid  upon  us, 
if  we  have  no  great  courage  to  meet  a  great  call,  we 
shall  emulate  the  example  of  Cromwell's  soldiers,  who 
conquered  first  the  impassive  state,  by  their  fastings 
and  prayers,  and  then  sailing  into  battle  as  men  iron- 
clad, conquered  also  their  enemies;  or  better  still,  we 
shall  emulate  those  martyrs,  who  could  sing  in  the  crisp 
of  their  bodies,  because  they  had  trained  their  bodies 
to  serve.  So  again  if  we  are  losing  ground,  getting 
under  the  world,  heated  by  prosperity,  soured  by  disap- 
pointment, bittered  by  resentments  and  grudges,  we 
shall  do  well  to  seek  the  wilderness,  taking  our  tempta- 
tion with  us  to  be  mastered.  So  again  if  we  have  some 
great  crisis  upon  us,  even  as  our  Master  had,  some  turn 
of  life  to  settle  that  will  settle  every  thing;  or  if  we 
have  great  endowments  coming  upon  us,  or  coming  out 
in  us,  that  we  must  be  responsible  for — property,  place, 
eloquence,  fame,  beauty,  genius — what  a  girding  do  we 
need  to  meet  our  occasions,  or  even  to  effectually  stifle 
the  nonsense  of  pride  and  foolish  suggestion.  0,  if  we 
could  set  ourselves  in  position  thus  for  God's  call  and 
his  Christly  inspirations,  how  cheap  the  discipline 
would  be. 

Observed  on  occasions  like  these,  a  fast  will  some- 
times wonderfully  clear  the  atmosphere  of  the  mind. 
The  sentiments  will  be  quickened  in  their  play.  The 
imagination,  which  is  a  great  organ  for  religion,  wiU 


LIBERTY    AND    DISCIPLINE.  22] 

get  a  more  reverberative  ring.  The  conscience  w  ill  be* 
come  at  once  more  rigid  and  more  tender.  All  the 
powers  will  be  girded  up,  and  God  will  have  the  soul 
in  position,  waiting  to  be  filled  with  his  eternal  life  and 
vigor. 

No  such  good  results  of  fasting  will  follow,  or  will 
be  expected,  where  it  is  improperly  observed.  No  one 
should  ever  go  into  a  fast,  when  he  has  the  bridegroom 
consciously  with  him.  Such  fasting  is  untimely.  Turn- 
ing sunshine  inco  night,  and  making  misery  ^?-a^/5,  when 
we  are  not  miserable,  is  any  thing  but  Christian,  though 
alas !  some  very  good  people  do  sometimes  make  a  merit 
of  it. 

Some  persons,  who  are  not  practiced  in  the  art,  so  to 
speak,  of  fasting,  complain  that  they  are  only  troubled 
and  mentally  confused  by  their  hunger,  and  get  no  ad- 
vantage from  it.  But  when  they  have  learned  the  way 
to  set  their  mind  facing  Godward,  instead  of  facing  the 
body,  and  moving  in  the  low  range  of  the  gastric  energy, 
it  will  not  be  so — they  will  even  forget  to  be  hungry.  It 
might  be  well  for  such  to  begin  with  a  prolonged  half- 
fast,  or  Lenten  reduction,  instead  of  abstinence.  Feeding 
the  body  circumspectly  thus,  as  between  cage  bars,  they 
may  still  the  growling  of  nature,  and  learn  at  last  how  to 
get  a  spring  of  reaction  for  the  mind.  A  prolonged  bri- 
dle check  upon  the  body  is  good  both  for  it  and  for  the 
lider;  for  what  both  most  especially  need  is  to  get  ac- 
customed to  the  rein ! 

At  the  same  time,  fasting  should  always  be  a  reality, 
never  a  semblance.  To  pretend  a  fast,  when  all  the 
19* 


222  LIBERTY    AND    DISCIPLINE. 

routine  of  table,  office,  and  shop,  is  still  going  on  aa 
Qsunl,  is  to  make  a  cheat  of  it;  such  as  takes  away  the 
mind's  honor,  and  leaves  a  most  sorry  conviction  of  hy- 
pocrisy in  place  of  any  benefit.  But  let  no  one  make 
the  fast  excessive  under  pretense  of  making  it  real.  It 
should  never  amount  to  a  maceration  of  the  body ; 
though  sometimes  the  benefit  gained  by  a  disciple  will 
even  tempt  him  to  make  a  luxury  of  it.  Let  it  be 
a  rule  that  the  fasting  should  never  be  more  fre- 
quent or  more  stringent,  than  is  necessary  to  maintain, 
for  the  long  run  of  time,  the  very  clearest,  strongest, 
healthiest  condition  both  of  mind  and  bod}'-.  For  the 
digestive  function  wants  its  Sabbaths,  just  as  truly  as 
any  other,  and  will  keep  the  soundest  health  when  it 
has  them. 

Instead  of  recoiling  now,  my  brethren,  from  this  more 
rugged  kind  of  discipline,  there  ought  even  to  be  a  fascina- 
tion in  the  severities  of  it.  As  it  is  profoundly  real  and 
earnest,  it  will  also  make  us  strong.  How  often  are  we 
oppressed  with  the  feeling  that  our  modern  piety  wants 
depth  and  spiritual  richness.  It  is  as  if  it  were  in  the 
skin  and  not  in  the  heart — thin,  flashy,  flavorless,  desti- 
tute of  the  heroic  and  sturdy  qualities.  It  never  can 
be  otlierwise,  till  we  consent  to  endure  some  hardness, 
or  at  least  to  find  some  way  of  painstaking.  The  gym- 
nastic we  are  in  must  be  strong  enough  to  make  muscle, 
else  we  shall  not  have  it.  Hence  the  profound  neces- 
sity, as  I  conceive,  that  there  should  be  an  ascetic  side 
or  element  in  this  free  salvation,  where  the  disciple 
"exercises  himself,"  as  the  apostle  has  it,  putting  him- 


LIBERTY    AND    DISCIPLINE.  223 

self  in  training  and  self-chastening  for  success.  For  as 
the  competitors  in  games  of  wrestling,  and  rowing,  and 
racing,  do  not  despise  the  toughest  severities  of  train- 
ing for  the  victory,  no  more  should  the  Christian  repel 
that  nobler  discipline  that  is  to  be  the  girding  of  his 
cliaracter.  It  would  not  do,  for  a  way  of  grace,  to  only 
fondle  or  coddle  us,  in  tenderings  of  favor  and  soft 
mercy  and  overflowing  bounty ;  we  could  not  be  float- 
ed into  the  heights  of  character  by  any  such  gentle 
tide-swing  as  many  look  for,  and  conceive  to  be  the 
grace  offered  to  their  faith.  Such  a  kind  of  treatment 
qualified  by  nothing  more  sturdy  and  severe,  might 
even  soften  the  brain  of  our  piety.  No,  there  must  be 
an  ascetic  self-girding  for  us,  as  well  as  a  gracious  im- 
pulsion, something  which  is  more  than  fasting,  but  of 
which  that  is  a  type.  There  needs  to  be  a  side  of  tough 
endeavor,  in  which  we  undertake  a  mighty  becoming, 
even  punishing  ourselves,  so  to  speak,  into  right  posi- 
tion for  God.  We  must  come  into  the  vise  of  a  rugged 
and  fiery  self-discipline,  where,  if  we  wince  for  the  severi- 
ties suffered,  we  still  forbid  our  cowardly,  soft  nature 
to  yield.  If  there  is  to  be  any  fibre  in  our  character, 
there  must  be  a  Spartan  discipline  to  make  it.  There 
was  nev(.^T  a  strong  Christian,  or  a  Christian  hero,  that 
did  not  put  himself  to  being  a  Christian  with  cost. 
To  be  merely  wooed  by  grace,  and  tenderly  dewed  by 
sentiment,  makes  a  Christian  mushroom,  not  a  Chris* 
tian  man.  It  is  even  difficult  to  conceive,  how  those 
angels  that  excel  in  strength,  and  are  called  the  char- 
riots   of  God,   ever   got   their  vigor  without  some   fit 


224  LIBERTY    AND    DISCIPLINE. 

training ;  nay,  it  is  most  certain  that  they  never  did 
So  much  meaning  has  our  master,  when  charging  it 
upon  us,  again  and  again,  without  our  once  conceiv- 
ing possibly  what  depth  of  meaning  he  would  have  us 
find  in  his  words — Deny  thyself,  take  up  thy  cross  and 
follow  me. 


XI. 

CHRIST'S  AGONY,  OR  MORAL  SUFFERING. 


^^And  being  in  an  agony  he  prayed  more  earnestly^ 
and  his  sweat  ivas,  as  it  ivere,  great  drops  of  blood  fall- 
ing  down  to  the  ground.^'' — LuKE  xxii,  44. 

What  Christian  has  not  many  times  wished  that  he 
could  lay  hold  of  the  precise  condition  and  feehng  of 
Jesus,  in  this  very  remarkable  scene  or  chapter,  com- 
monly called  his  agony?  And  yet  a  suspicion  may 
well  be  indulged  that  we  not  seldom  push  it  quite 
away  from  us,  and  make  it  unrealizable,  by  dogmatic 
solutions  that  rather  confound  than  solve  it.  Mystery, 
in  some  sense,  it  certainly  is,  and  must  be ;  for  the  per- 
son itself  of  Christ  is,  internally  viewed,  a  mystery,  and 
the  what  and  how,  of  his  personal  pains,  in  what  part 
they  affect  him,  under  what  laws  of  intensity,  and  by 
what  internal  force  he  is  able  to  support  them,  we  can 
never  know,  till  we  understand  his  psychology  itself — 
as  we  certainly  shall  not  here  on  earth. 

Still  the  agony  is  given  us,  because  it  can  somehow 
be  seen  to  be  for  us;  yielding  impressions  of  Christ 
and  of  God,  manifested  in  him,  which  it  is  important  for 
us  to  receive.     And  to  receive  these  impressions  from 


226  Christ's  agony, 

it  is,  at  least  so  far,  to  understand  it.  All  the  more  to 
be  regretted  is  it,  if  we  interpose  tbeologic  construc- 
tions that  make  it  impossible  to  all  receptive  sympathy. 
Thus  if  we  conceive,  or  dogmatically  assume,  that 
Christ  is  in  this  hour  of  distress,  because  the  sin  of  the 
woiid  is  upon  him,  to  be  punitively  treated  in  his  per- 
son; that  God  withdraws  judicially  from  him,  to  make 
him  suffer,  and  that  the  "  cup  "  over  which  he  groans  is 
the  cup  of  God's  eternal  indignations;  may  it  not  be 
that  we  ourselves  so  far  violate  the  subject  matter,  as  to 
make  it  an  offense  to  our  most  inborn  convictions  of 
right,  and  raise  up  mutinous  questions  that  even  forbid 
the  discovery  of  its  meaning  to  our  hearts  ? 

A  much  less  artificial,  tenderer,  and,  I  think  I  shall 
be  able  to  show,  truer  and  more  affecting  conception  of 
the  agony  is,  that  it  rises  naturally  out  of  the  perfect 
feeling,  and  the  personal  relations  and  exigences  of 
the  sufferer.  Such  a  being,  on  such  a  mission,  meeting 
such  objects  of  feeling,  at  such  a  crisis,  will  have  just 
this  agony,  without  any  infliction  to  produce  it. 

The  facts  of  the  scene  briefly  and  freely  related  are 
these.  The  Saviour,  attended  by  his  disciples,  goes  up 
into  a  dell  on  the  slope  of  Olivet,  and  enters  a  certain 
garden  or  olive- yard,  where  he  had  often  before  com- 
m  uned  with  them  apart.  He  requires  them  to  sit  down. 
But  there  is  something  peculiar  in  his  manner.  A  feel- 
ing of  depression  makes  him  droop  in  his  action,  and 
gives  a  drooping  accent  to  his  voice.  He  signifies  to 
three  of   their  number  that  he  wants  their  campauy 


'»R     MORAL    SUFFER  [NG.  227 

while  he  goes  forward  a  little  way,  to  pray.  Hereto- 
fore he  has  commonly  sought  to  be  alone  in  prayer, 
going  apart  at  dead  of  night,  and  ascending  this  or  that 
high  mountain  top,  there  to  be  closeted  with  God  in 
solitude.  The  depression  that  before  appeared  now  be- 
comes a  crushing  weight  upon  him.  In  the  language 
of  the  narrative,  he  begins  to  be  sorrowful  and  very 
heavy.  He  speaks  too,  unable  to  suppress  his  feeling — 
"My  soul  is  exceeding  sorrowful,  even  unto  death." 
And  then  he  adds  what  indicates  even  greater  anguish, 
such  as  almost  takes  away  his  self-possession — ''  do  not 
leave  me,  do  not  sleep,  stay  here  and  watch  with  me !' 
He  goes  forward  a  few  steps,  falling  upon  his  face, 
which  is  thv',  eastern  posture  of  extreme  sorrow  and 
despair,  and  there  he  cries  aloud — "  0  my  Father,  if  it 
be  possible,  l<*.t  this  cup  pass  from  me."  He  rises  and 
turns  back  to  his  friends,  but  the  weight  is  still  heavy 
on  his  heart,  and  he  throws  himself  again  upon  his  face. 
And  he  does  it  again,  even  a  third  time.  There  is  also 
given  us,  in  the  narrative  made  out  by  Luke,  the  patho- 
logy of  his  feeling — ''And  being  in  an  agony,  he  prayed 
more  earnestly,  and  his  sweat  was,  as  it  were,  great 
drops  of  blood  falling  down  to  the  ground."  "Which 
is  the  same  as  to  say,  that  the  agony  of  feeling  he  was 
in  was  so  intense  that,  under  the  laws  of  bodily  affec- 
tion, there  were  forced  out,  through  the  pores  of  the 
skin  J  large  drops  resembled  to  blood.  An  ancient  wri- 
ter reports  the  fact  of  a  bloody  sweat,  or  a  sweat  ex- 
ceeding like  to  blood,  produced  by  the  bite  in  India  of 
a  poisonous  serpent,  and  the  same  thing  is  reported,  I 


228 

believe,  as  a  result  of  certain  bodil}^  diseases  that  pro- 
duce very  intense  suffering.  But  the  symptom  is  none 
the  less  peculiar  here,  since  it  is  not  the  effect  of  any 
poison,  or  physical  pain,  but  of  a  purely  mental 
anguish. 

Thus  far,  as  relates  to  the  agony,  or  crisis  of  pain 
itself,  reported  in  the  narrative.  Other  points  relating 
to  his  conduct  in  the  scene,  will  come  into  view  as  we 
inquire  into  the  causes  of  the  agony,  and  need  not  be 
recited.  Whence  and  why,  this  very  strange  crisis  of 
mental  anguish?  According  to  a  very  common  im- 
pression, as  already  intimated,  the  suffering  has  a  judi- 
cial character,  and  is  to  be  taken  as  a  theologic  factor, 
in  a  scheme  of  retributive  justice.  The  conception  is 
that  Christ  has  somehow  come  into  the  place  of  trans- 
gressors, to  receive  upon  his  person  what  is  due  to 
them,  and  that  God,  accepting  him  in  that  ofl&ce, 
launches  upon  him  the  abhorrence  or  displeasure,  that 
is  due  to  them  ;  inflicting  upon  him,  as  it  were,  deserved 
pains,  by  withdrawing  from  him  and  letting  fall  upon  him 
the  horror  of  darkness  under  which  he  groans.  The 
facts  of  the  narrative  have  been  so  frequently,  or  even 
habitually,  submitted  to  this  construction,  that  our  first 
concern  will  be  to  make  a  revision  of  the  facts,  ascer 
taining  how  far  they  give  it  their  support. 

Thus  it  is  alleged,  as  a  striking  peculiarity  of  the 
scene,  that  the  suffering  appears,  on  a  merely  human 
footing,  to  be  out  of  place.  Before  the  arrest,  in  a 
quiet  place  out  of  the  city,  at  a  still  hour  of  the  nighty 


OR    MORAL    SUFFERING.  229 

when  he  has  all  his  friends  about  him,  and  judging  by 
outward  tokens,  has  far  less  reason  to  apprehend  vio- 
lence from  his  enemies  than  he  has  had  many  times 
before — such  is  the  time  and  place,  where  Jesus  falls 
into  his  dreadful  agony  and  great  horror  of  distress. 
In  which  he  certainly  appears  to  be  exercised  in  a  way 
that  is  not  human,  invaded  by  a  suffering  that  can  not 
on  mere  human  principles  be  accounted  for.  And  this 
fact  favors  the  conviction,  it  is  imagined,  that  he  suffers 
because  some  mysterious  judicial  infliction  is  descending 
upon  him,  from  a  source  invisible.  But  such  a  conclu- 
sion is  rather  made  up  theologically  for  the  scene,  than 
drawn  from  the  facts  themselves.  No  single  intimation 
of  any  such  thing  is,  either  contained  in  the  facts,  or 
given  out  by  the  narrative. 

Again  his  language,  in  the  figure  of  the  *'  cup  " — 
*if  this  cup  may  not  pass  away  from  me  except  I 
drink  it" — is  taken  as  favoring  the  idea  of  some  suffer- 
ing, in  the  nature  of  infliction.  But  do  we  not  use  the 
same  kind  of  language  ourselves,  having  still  no  such 
thought  as  that  the  cup  of  anguish  we  speak  of,  or  pray  to 
have  taken  away,  is  a  judicial  infliction  ?  This  figure 
too  of  the  cup  is  used,  in  scripture,  for  all  kinds  of  ex- 
perience, whether  joyful,  or  painful.  Thus  we  have  the 
"cup  of  salvation,"  "the  cup  of  consolation,"  "  the  cup 
of  tiembling,"  "of  fury,"  "of  astonishment,"  "of  deso- 
lation." Whatever  God  sends  upon  a  man  to  be  deeply 
felt,  and  by  whatever  kind  of  Providence,  whether 
benignant,  or  disciplinary,  or  retributive,  is  called  his 
cup.     How  then  does  it  follow,  when  Christ  speaks  of 

20 


230  Christ's  agony, 

bis  cup,  that  it  is  a  cup  of  judicial  chastening?  Be- 
sides, does  he  not  say  to  his  followers — •'  ye  shall  indeed 
drink  of  my  cup;"  and  is  any  thing  more  fixed  in  this 
penal  view  of  Christ's  agony,  than  that  no  human  being 
can,  at  all,  participate  in  such  matter  of  atonement? 
And,  that  being  true,  his  cup,  as  he  himself  speaks, 
can  not,  in  this  particular  instance  at  least,  have  refer- 
ence to  any  penal  suffering,  and  probably  has  not  in 
any  other. 

Again  the  agony  is  accounted  for  as  having  been 
caused  by  the  judicial  withdrawment  of  the  Father; 
leaving  him  to  feel  the  weight,  in  his  human  person,  of 
that  displeasure  which  is  due  to  the  sins  of  the  world, 
now  upon  him.  There  is  no  intimation  whatever,  to 
this  effect  in  the  narrative,  but  his  exclamation  after- 
ward, in  the  scene  of  the  cross — "]^y  God,  my  God, 
why  hast  thou  forsaken  me," — is  carried  back  to  the 
agony  to  fix  this  construction  upon  it.  But  there  is  not 
tbe  least  reason  to  suppose  that  Christ  means  literally 
to  say,  in  the  exclamation  referred  to,  that  God  has  for- 
saken him.  Did  he  not  comfort  himself  but  a  short 
time  previous,  in  the  assurance — "  therefore  doth  my 
Father  love  me,  because  I  lay  down  my  life  for  the 
sheep?"  how  then  can  he  imagine  that  God  is  for- 
saking him,  in  just  the  sacrifice  for  which  he  loved  him  ? 
Nay  it  was  only  an  hour  ago  that  he  was  saying,  in  the 
dearest  confidence,  and  in  tender  appeal  even  to  the 
Father — "  I  have  glorified  thee  on  the  earth,  and  now  I 
come  to  thee."  Besides  it  is  represented  by  Luke,  in 
his  account  of  the  agony  itself,  that  an  angel  is  sent 


OR    MORAL    SUFFERING.  281 

anto  "him  to  strengthen  him;  does  God  then  send  his 
angels  to  support  whom  he  himself  forsakes?  And 
again,  when  he  sajs  in  his  prayer,  three  times  repeated 
— "Not  as  I  will  but  as  thou  wilt,"  what  does  he  indi- 
cate, according  to  all  human  methods  of  judgment,  but 
the  dearest  present  confidence  in  God  and  repose  in  his 
favor?  It  must  also  be  noted,  again,  that,  between  the 
agony  and  the  crucifixion,  and  even  before  he  leaves 
the  garden,  he  formally  declares  just  this  confidence, 
saying — "Tbinkest  thou  that  I  can  not  now  pray  to  my 
Father,  and  he  shall  presently  give  me  more  than  twelve 
legions  of  angels?"  The  whole  account,  in  short,  is 
crowded  full  of  the  most  decisive  proofs  that  he  does 
not  himself  imagine  any  such  thing  as  that  he  is  for- 
saken of  God  and  judicially  given  up  to  suffering. 
Let  it  also  be  observed,  that  when  he  utters  the  cry, 
"  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me,"  he  is  just  reeling  out  of 
life;  requiring  his  outcry  therefore  to  be  taken  as  a  mere 
mterjectional  utterance  of  distress.  Nothing  could  be 
further  from  him  than  to  be  protesting  God's  severity 
thus,  in  the  article  of  death. 

But  he  does  it  nevertheless,  some  one  will  say ;  for  if 
we  take  his  words  interjectionally,  why  should  he  vent 
his  sufferings  by  the  outcry  of  what  is  not  true  ?  Be- 
cause, I  answer,  the  not  true  is  often  the  most  vehe- 
mently, best  uttered  truth.  Thus  when  Jonathan  and 
Lis  armor  bearer  broke  into  the  camp  of  the  Philis- 
tines, the  wild  commotion,  or  panic,  they  two  raised 
in  the  army,  and  the  garrison,  and  all  the  people,  is 
described  by  saying,  "and  the  earth  quaked ;  so  there 


232  CHRIST   S    AGONY, 

was  a  very  great  trembling."  Does  any  one  suppose 
that  the  earth  really  quaked  on  that  occasion,  or  is  it 
said  only  to  set  off  the  trembling?  So  when  Paul,  in 
the  shipwreck,  says,  "  not  one  hair  of  your  head  shall 
perish,"  it  is  not  impossible  that  a  good  many  hairs  of 
the  multitude  were  lost  in  their  drifting  ashore.  He  only 
said  there  should  not,  as  a  way  of  promising  the  safe 
landing  more  emphatically.  Outcries  too,  of  this  kind  are 
always  to  be  taken  freely,  as  the  utterance  of  tragic  feel- 
ing, or  suffering,  not  as  the  language  of  historic  alle- 
gation. Exactly  so  Zion  cries  in  her  distress,  "  the  Lord 
hath  forsaken  me;"  when  immediately  God  answers, 
"I  have  graven  thee  upon  the  palms  of  my  hands." 
It  will  be  a  great  day,  I  must  add,  for  the  scrip- 
tures, when  the  dull  soul  of  dogmatism  has  done 
with  its  undiscerning  inflictions ;  when  poetry  is  taken 
for  poetry,  passion  for  passion,  and  the  hyperbolic  in- 
tensities of  interjection,  never  again  for  propositional 
statements. 

I  will  farther  add  what  ought,  by  a  short  method,  to 
finish  the  argument,  apart  from  all  criticism  on  the 
terms  of  the  narrative,  that  the  absolute  morality  of 
God  makes  any  such  withdrawment  of  the  Father  im- 
possible. That  eternal  goodness  should  forsake  good- 
ness in  suffering,  and  even  to  make  it  suffer,  in  a  way 
of  gaining  ulterior  ends  or  advantages  however  mer- 
ciful, is  to  pawn  the  eternal  chastities  cf  character  for 
ends  of  beneficence ;  which,  as  certainly  as  God  is  God, 
will  never  be  done. 

Dismissing  now  this  artificial,  over-theological    way 


OR    MORAL    SUFFERING.  238 

of  conceiving  the  agony  as  a  judicial  infliction,  let  us 
endeavor 

Secondly,  to  find  tli3  spring  of  it,  in  a  way  that  looka 
to  the  simple  character  and  conditions  of  the  sufferer 
himself.  I  greatly  mistake,  if  it  does  not  so  become,  at 
once,  more  intelligible,  and  as  much  more  effective  on 
our  feeling,  as  it  is  closer  to  the  range  of  our  human 
sympathies. 

That  it  is  not  resolvable  into  fear  is,  I  think,  sufii- 
ciently  evident.  It  is  quite  incredible  that  a  character 
of  such  transcendent  worth  and  majesty  should  be  thus 
appalled,  thus  miserably  shaken,  or  dissolved,  by  fear 
of  any  kind.  Besides,  in  fear  the  blood  flies  the 
skin,  rushing  back  upon  the  heart,  and  leaving  a  deadly 
pallor  over  the  whole  exterior  aspect ;  while  here  we 
have  a  kind  of  agony  that  racks  the  soul,  in  some  way, 
at  the  very  center  of  life,  forcing  the  blood  outward  and 
driving  it  even  through  the  skin.  In  which  we  may  see 
as  conclusively  as  possible,  that  fear,  the  common  hu- 
man weakness,  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  suffering. 
It  must  also  be  noticed  that  the  account  given  of  his 
agony  does  not  call  it  fear.  It  simply  declares  that  he 
was  sorrowful,  "exceeding  sorrowful."  a  state  which 
has  nothing  to  do  with  fear. 

And  yet  he  is  shaken,  somehow,  in  a  degree  that 
would  not  be  considered  honorable  in  a  man  of  ordi- 
nary spirit,  when  about  to  die.  Not  only  does  the  very 
great  and  wise  man  Socrates  surpass  him  in  the  noble 
composure  of  his  last  hours,  but  thousands  of  malefao- 
20* 


284  Christ's 

tors  even  liave  received  the  sentence  of  deatb  for  then 
crimes,  with  a  better  show  of  serenity  and  self-possession. 

We  have  a  great  matter  then  to  account  for,  viz., 
that  Jesus  Christ,  the  incarnate  Word  of  God,  a  being 
wlio  has  never  had  to  acknowledge  a  sin,  or  had  the 
feeling  of  it,  a  perfect  character  who  has  confronted 
e\^ery  sort  of  peril  in  his  w^orks  of  mercy,  one  who 
shows  the  most  perfect  confidence  in  God  and  the  final 
success  of  his  cause,  is  yet  somehow  shaken  by  the  most 
dreadful  agony — rent  as  it  were  asunder,  by  his  agi- 
tated sensibility — when  he  meets  the  prospect  of  death. 

The  first  thing  that  occurs  to  us  is  that  this  agony 
can  not  be  simply  human.  It  visibly  exceeds,  in  its 
degree,  all  that  we  know  of  human  sensibility.  Calling 
it  then  divine,  if  onlj^  we  could  think  it  possible  for  the 
divine  sensibility  to  be  a  suffering  sensibility,  the  question 
would  begin  to  open.  That  this  sufiering  sensibility 
should  not  fearfully  wrench,  and  burden  even  to  crushing, 
the  human  vehicle  it  occupies,  is  scarcely  credible.  A  suf- 
fering that  exceeds  the  proportions  of  the  vehicle  must 
needs  appear  by  violent  symptoms — even  as  a  powerful 
engine  in  a  frail,  light-timbered  vessel,  must  needs  make 
it  groan  heavily,  or  shake  it  even  to  wreck. 

What  then  is  the  fact?  Is  there  any  sensibility  in 
God  that  can  suffer?  is  He  ever  wrenched  by  suffer- 
ing ?  Nothing  is  more  certain.  He  could  not  be  good, 
having  evil  in  his  dominions,  without  suffering  even 
according  to  his  goodness.  For  what  is  goodness  but  a 
perfect  feeling  ?  and  what  is  a  perfect  feeling  but  that 
which  feels  toward  every  wrong  an  1  misery  according 


OR    MORAL    SUFFERING.  235 

tc>  i^'  nature?  And  thus  it  is  that  we  freely  impute  to 
hirr.  jvhether  we  observe  it  or  not,  every  sort  of  painful 
sens  bility  that  is  related  to  bad  and  suffering  subjects. 
We  <)onceive  of  him  as  feeling  displeasure,  which  is  the 
opp')site  of  pleasure.  We  ascribe  it  as  one  of  his  per- 
fections that  he  compassionates,  which  means  that  he 
suffers  with,  the  fallen.  We  conceive  that  he  loathes 
what  is  disgusting,  hates  what  is  cruel,  suffers  long 
what  is  perverse,  grieves,  burns,  bears,  forbears,  and  is 
even  afflicted  for  his  people,  as  the  scripture  expressly 
declares.  All  which  are  varieties  of  suffering.  We 
also  ascribed  it  to  God,  as  one  of  his  perfections,  that  he 
is  impassible;  but  here,  if  we  understand  ourselves, 
we  mean  that  he  is  physically  impassible,  not  that  he  is 
morally  so.  Moral  impassibility  is  really  to  have  no 
sensibilities  of  character,  which  is  far  as  possible  from 
being  any  perfection.  Indeed  there  is  a  whole  class  of 
what  are  called  passive  virtues  that  can  not,  in  this  view, 
belong  to  God  at  all,  and  his  perfection  culminates 
without  including  more  than  half  the  excellencies  de- 
manded even  of  us,  in  the  range  of  our  humble,  finite 
capacity. 

There  is  then,  we  conclude,  some  true  sense,  in  which 
even  God's  perfection  requires  him  to  be  a  suffering 
God — not  a  God  unhappy,  or  less  than  perfectly,  infi- 
nitely blessed  ;  for,  though  there  be  many  subtractions 
from  his  blessedness,  there  is  never  a  diminution ;  be- 
cause the  consciousness  of  suffering  well  brings  with  it, 
in  every  case  and  everlastingly,  a  compensation  which, 
by  a  great  law  of  equilibrium   in  his  and  all  spiritual 


236 

natures,  fully  repays  the  loss;  just  as  Christ,  assailed 
by  so  many  throes  of  suffering  sensibility — in  the 
temptation,  in  his  ministry,  in  the  garden — still  speaks 
of  his  joy,  and  bequeaths  it  as  a  gift  most  real  and 
sublime  to  his  followers. 

Now  it  is  this  suffering  sensibility  of  God  that  most 
of  all  needed  to  be  revealed,  and  brought  nigh  to  hu- 
man feeling,  in  the  incarnate  mission  of  Jesus;  not 
being  revealed  in  any  sufficient  measure  through  nature 
and  the  providential  history  of  men.  It  was  necessary 
for  us  to  feel  God  in  his  feeling  ,  to  know  him  in  his 
passive  virtues — his  patience,  forbearance  of  enemies, 
compassion,  pity,  sympathy,  and  above  all,  his  deep 
throes  of  love,  agonizing  for  the  salvation  of  trans- 
gressors and  wanderers  from  his  fold.  This,  accord- 
ingly, is  just  what  we  are  to  look  for  in  the  agony  so 
called,  viz.,  a  true  discovery  to  our  hearts  of  God's 
intensity  and  depth,  in  those  suffering  virtues  by  which 
his  transcendently  sovereign  nature  is  exercised. 

Christ  then,  we  shall  expect  to  find,  suffers  in  his 
agony,  not  because  it  is  put  upon  him  judicially  from 
without,  but  only  as  his  better  nature  should  and  must 
in  the  crisis  that  has  overtaken  him.  Not  to  particu- 
larize further,  two  great  sources,  or  causes  of  anguish 
open  upon  him  at  once ;  firstly^  the  chastity  of  his  pure 
feeling  recoils,  with  horror,  from  the  hell-gulf  of  wrong 
and  wild  judicial  madness  into  which  he  is  now  de- 
scending ;  and  secondly,  the  love  he  has  for  his  enemiea 
brings  a  burden  of  concern  upon  his  heart,  that  op- 
presses and,  for  the  time,  well  nigh  crushes  him.     Oi 


OR    MORAL    SUFFERING.  237 

these  twc»  modes  or  kinds  of  anguish  I  will  spsak  ir, 
their  order. 

Christ  is  a  being  of  unsullied  innocence,  or  even  of 
divia ;  purity,  though  incarnated  into  the  corporate  evil 
and  retributive  disorder  of  the  world,  to  bear  its  liabili- 
ties and  be  himself  a  part  of  it.  This  retributive  dis- 
order of  the  race  is  what  is  called  in  scripture  "the 
curse;"  and,  being  himself  a  man,  he  is  just  so  fiir  in  it 
as  he  is  human.  In  all  his  previous  ministry — in  his 
temptation,  in  his  healings,  in  the  arts  of  hypocrisy  and 
the  cruelties  of  wrong  he  has  encountered,  he  has  been 
struggling  often  with  the  sense  of  recoil,  or  even  with 
pungent  visitations  of  horror  difficult  to  be  suppressed. 
But  now,  as  he  nears  the  great  crisis  of  his  life,  he  be- 
holds the  corporate  evil,  or  curse,  gathering  itself  up  to 
a  deed  upon  his  sacred  person,  that  will  display  just  all 
that  is  most  horrible  in  it.  He  is  not  afraid,  but  his 
pure  feeling  shudders  at  the  madness  which  is  ready  to 
burst  upon  him — shudders  even  the  worse  that  it  is  to 
be  judicial  madness.  For,  though  God  is  not  going  to 
deal  judicially  with  him,  he  does  perceive  that  the 
rage  of  sin,  ordinarily  restrained  and  graciously  soft- 
ened by  God's  Spirit,  is  now  to  be  let  forth  in  his  be- 
trayers and  crucifiers,  in  just  the  madness  that  judi- 
cially belongs  to  it — so  to  glass  itself  before  conviction, 
in  a  deed  of  murder  upon  the  only  perfect  being  that 
ever  trod  the  world,  nay  a  deed  of  murder  upon  divine 
h)vc  itself!  This  it  is  that,  in  sad  note  of  warning,  he 
testifies,  when  his  enemies  come  shortly  after,  to  arrest 
him — "  For  this  is  your  hour,  and  the  power  of  dark- 


238  chkist's  agony 


ness."  He  refers  to  no  power  of  darkness,  as  many 
contriv^e  to  understand,  upon  himself;  it  is  darknesa 
upon  them,  his  enemies — judicial  darkness,  the  full, 
unmitigated,  natural  curse  of  wrong.  This  is  ''the 
cup"  over  which  he  groans,  and  which  he  is  now  to 
drink;  the  wormwood  and  the  vinegar  of  the  world's 
wild  malice.  The  suffering  and  death  are  penal  upon 
him,  only  in  the  sense  that  all  martyrs  suffer  penally, 
when  the  corporate  judgments  of  God  upon  their 
wicked  times  and  wicked  fellow-men  infuriate  and  even 
dehumanize  their  natural  feeling.  But  the  martyrs  are 
sinners,  suffering  as  such  at  the  point  of  their  faith ;  he 
is  the  sinless,  suffering  at  the  point  of  his  innocence. 
They  suffer  as  men,  still  bronzed  in  their  susceptibility, 
by  the  old  demoralization  of  sin  ;  he  as  the  celestial  one, 
and  as  a  pure  superhuman  feeling  must.  The  recoil  of 
his  horror  is  dreadful,  quite  unimaginable  probably  by  us, 
and  his  poor  human  vehicle  breaks  under  the  shock, 
even  as  a  stranded  ship  under  the  heavy  blows  of  the 
sea.  He  groans  aloud,  falls  upon  his  face,  calls  to  hia 
friends  to  stay  by  him,  utters  anguished  cries  to  God, 
shows  discolored  drops  resembled  to  blood  exuding 
from  his  face — suffers  in  a  word  more  incontinently,  a 
great  deal,  than  either  soldier,  philosopher,  or  man  of 
spiiit  should,  nay  than  many  a  malefactor  would !  And 
so,  it  truly  seems  to  me,  that  he  ought:  for  who  of  all 
mankind  had  ever  a  tithe  of  his  sensibility  to  evil.  In- 
deed one  of  the  most  difficult  things  for  us  mortals  is 
to  be  duly  shocked  by  wrong  and  feel  a  just  horror  of 
its  baseness.     Impassive  to  fear,  even  as  God  himself, 


OR    MCRAL    SUFFEHING  239 

he  is  yet  wrenched  all  through,  in  every  fiber  of  sensi- 
bilitjj  by  the  appalling  and  practically  monstrous  scene 
before  him — human  creatures! — creatures  in  God's 
image! — going  to  crucify  their  Divine  Friend  from 
above ! — God's  messenger  and  their  Saviour !  By  their 
bloody  hands  he  is  himself  to  die!  Yerily  it  is  given 
unto  men  to  die,  but  ah !  it  was  not  given  unto  him. 
Death  has  no  rights  against  him.  Nothing  but  the  cor- 
poi'ate  liability  of  his  incarnation  puts  him  under  it. 
He  shudders  in  throes  of  recoil,  even  as  God's  pure 
angels  would,  meeting  such  a  death;  nay  more  and 
worse,  as  he  has  a  vaster  nature,  and  a  deeper  sen- 
sibility, with  only  a  human  apparatus  to  support  the 
shock  I 

Now  this  suffering  of  the  agony  is  the  suffering,  in 
one  sense,  of  justice,  answering  doubtless  many  of  the 
uses  conceived  by  those  who  contrive  to  make  it  a  suf- 
fering divinely  inflicted.  It  is  a  suffering  that  he  un- 
dergoes in  God's  retributive  order.  In  one  view  it  is 
the  curse  that  murders  him,  being  that  power  of  dark- 
ness and  corporate  evil  that  has  come  upon  the  world, 
as  disordered  and  shaken  out  of  God's  harmony,  by  the 
recoil  of  transgression.  His  very  incarnation  had  put 
him  into  or  under  it,  and  he  would  not  even  by  tlie 
power  of  miracle  push  the  liability  away ;  for  it  was  one 
of  his  purposes  to  offer  such  a  tribute  of  respect  to 
God's  retributive  order,  as  would  sanctify  it  in  the  feel- 
ing, and  fix  it  in  the  convictions  of  mankind.  Thus, 
by  his  power  of  miracle,  he  could  have  made  to  him- 
self  a   iestudoj    so   to   speak,    of   inviolable   protection 


2-10  Christ's  agony 


against  the  i*age  of  liis  enemies,  but  he  preferred  instead 
to  suffer  just  what  men  are  suffering,  in  that  penal  dis- 
order and  social  dislocation,  which  God,  in  judgment, 
has  appointed  for  the  fact  of  sin.  It  was  in  his  heart 
to  let  Grod's  justice  have  its  due  honors,  breaking  out, 
at  no  one  point,  from  the  fiery  liability  into  which  he 
had  come,  in  becoming  a  man.  He  consented  thus  to 
let  the  hell  which  scorches  wrong  scorch  him  too,  claim- 
ing no  exception  even  for  his  innocence.  Behold,  he 
would  say,  0  man,  God's  sacrament  of  wrath  that  is  on 
thee,  revealed  by  the  wrath  its  poison  stirs  within  thee ; 
and  because  it  is  the  ordinance  of  his  justice,  bear  wit- 
ness that  I  spurn  it  not,  neither  ask  that  my  integrity 
excuse  me  from  it!  Sacred  it  shall  be  because  it  is 
right ;  and  being  for  man  as  man,  a  power  of  darkness 
for  all  sin,  I  will  take  the  bitter  cup  for  thy  sake ! 
Only  this  be  noted,  since  the  malediction  w^orking  in 
thee  will  not  suffer  even  goodness  to  live,  how  certain 
it  is  that  blindness,  madness,  murder,  all  that  is  called 
hell,  goes  with  thy  sin,  whose  eternally  just  and  suffi- 
cient penalty  it  is  that  it  shall  live  in  its  own  fires,  and 
be  itself! 

After  such  a  tribute  paid  to  the  instituted  justice  of 
God,  who  will  imagine  that  the  forgiveness  of  penitent 
souls  will  loosen  the  joints  of  governmental  order  ?  By 
this  submission  of  Christ  to  man's  curse  or  lot  of  pen- 
alty— penalty  in  no  other  sense  to  him — an  impression 
will  be  made  for  God's  justice,  and  a  sting  of  conviction 
sharpened  against  sin,  that  will  even  start  a  new  sense 
of  his  law,  and  the  penal  order  of  his  rule  in  the  hearts 


OR    MORAL    SUFFERING.  241 

of  all  mankind.  Even  as  Christ  himself  anticipated 
when  he  said — "  Of  sin  because  they  believed  not  on 
me."  Also  as  it  was  anticipated  for  him  that  under  and 
by  his  suffering  mission,  "  the  thoughts  of  many  hearts 
should  be  revealed."  And  again,  still  further  back,  in 
tlie  ancient  prophecy — "They  shall  look  on  me  whom 
they  have  pierced."  All  which  was  to  be  signally 
proved  by  the  result  of  his  crucifixion — "And  all  the 
people  that  came  together  to  that  sight,  beholding  the 
things  which  were  done,  smote  their  breasts  and 
returned."  When  had  they  ever  felt  the  horrible 
nature  and  the  justly  damning  power  of  their  sin  as 
now  ? 

It  remains  to  speak  of  yet  another  and  very  distinct 
kind  of  suffering  included  in  the  agony,  viz.,  the  suf- 
fering Christ  bore  on  account  of  his  love.  As  he  re- 
coiled in  horror  from  the  spirit  and  deed  of  his  enemies, 
so  he  was  oppressed  by  his  anguish  of  concern  for  the 
men.  He  had  come  into  the  world,  in  the  fullness  even 
of  God's  love,  to  unbosom  that  love  to  the  sight  and 
feeling  of  mankind.  As  respects  all  enemies  and  reject- 
ors, it  had  been  a  suffering  love  even  from  eternity,  and 
it  will  be  none  the  less  a  suffering  love  that  it  has  taken 
humanity  for  its  vehicle.  Every  sort  of  love  connects 
some  kind  of  suffering  greater  or  less — desire,  concern. 
affliction,  anguish.  A  bliss  in  itself,  it  is  even  a  bliss 
intensified,  by  the  burden  it  so  willingly  or  even  pain- 
fully bears.  Thus  h  is  that  friendship,  charity, 
motherhood,  patriotism,  carries  each  its  burden,  light  or 
heavy,  according  to  the  nature  and  degree  of  its  love 

21 


242 

and  according  to  the  want,  or  woe  of  its  object.  What 
then  must  the  feeling  of  Christ  be,  when  he  looks  upon 
his  enemies  in  the  near  prospect  of  death  at  their 
hands — death  horrible  to  him,  and  a  sacrilegious  murder 
in  them.  If  the  great  liberator  Moses,  discouraged  and 
crushed  in  feeling  by  the  perversity  of  his  people,  cried 
— "  I  am  not  able  to  bear  all  this  people  alone,  because 
it  is  too  heavy  for  me,  and  if  thou  deal  thus  with  me 
kill  me;"  if  Paul,  himself  a  man,  was  constrained,  by 
the  burden  of  a  man's  love,  to  say — "I  have  great 
heaviness  and  continued  sorrow  in  my  heart;  for  I 
could  wish  that  myself  were  accursed  from  Christ,  for 
my  brethren,  my  kinsmen  according  to  the  faith ;" 
who  shall  wonder  at  the  anguish  of  Christ's  burden, 
when  he  bows  himself  under  it  to  the  ground,  when  he 
calls  it  his  "  cup,"  when  he  cries,  "  my  soul  is  exceeding 
sorrowful  even  unto  death?"  If  the  love  of  a  human 
benefactor  will  sometimes  beget  anguish,  what  will  the 
love  of  God  do  less  than  to  create  an  agony  ? 

And  yet  how  little  will  our  dull-hearted  M^orld 
bronzed  in  evil,  habitually  unloving,  unvisited  or  sel- 
dom visited,  by  a  consciously  tender  compassion ;  how 
little,  indeed,  will  the  most  unselfish,  or  even  benefit 
cently  Christian  of  us,  conceive  this  agony  of  the  divine 
love  for  men !  Our  hearts  make  feeble  answer  to  it  at 
the  best ;  so  feeble  that  there  even  seems  to  be  a  kind 
of  overdoing,  or  overfeeling  in  it.  Indeed  we  are  even 
wont  ourselves,  for  dignity's  sake,  to  halve  our  own 
little  emotion ;  and  we  do  the  same  unconsciously  for 
tne  emotion  of  God ;  halving  it  also  again,  by  the  con- 


OR     MORAL    SUFFERING.  213 

sideration  "here  let  in,  that  his  love  is  only  love  to  trnns- 
gressors  and  enemies.  Ab  !  if  we  could  think  it,  that 
is  just  the  fact,  in  wliicli  God's  love  becomes  an  agOL}' ; 
leaving,  as  it  were,  the  ninety  and  nine  of  his  friends, 
to  go  after  that  one  wlio  has  gone  astray,  and  rejoicing 
more  over  that,  as  lie  has  felt  the  loss  with  a  more  pain- 
ful concern.  God's  love  has  no  burden  of  pain  for  the 
good  ;  it  sharpens  to  a  pain  only  when  it  looks  upon 
the  evil.  And  here  precisely  is  the  stress  of  Christ's 
agony. 

When  I  consider  thus  who  Christ  was,  what  the  love 
he  bore,  what  the  crime  his  enemies  were  going  to  per* 
petrate,  invoking,  in  horrible  delusion,  his  blood  upon 
themselves  and  their  children ;  I  seem  to  get  some  lit- 
tle, dim  conception  of  his  anguish  for  them,  in  thi? 
dreadful  hour.  I  can  not  go  to  the  depth  of  it,  I  can  not 
ascend  to  the  height  of  it,  but  I  can  perceive  why  it 
should  transcend  my  feeling  and  even  the  possible  reach 
of  my  conceptions.  It  is  even  the  more  credible  too 
thp.t  its  tokens  do  so  plainly  exceed  all  human  demon- 
strations. The  most  adequate  and  complete  thing  we 
can  say  of  it  is,  that  it  reveals  the- Suffering  Holiness  of 
God. 

The  reason  of  the  agony  then — this  is  onr  conclusion 
— lies  in  the  facts  themselves ;  in  the  sensibilities  of  the 
sufferer  and  the  causes  acting  on  those  sensibilities. 
No  theologic  reason,  such  as  makes  him  suffer  by  inflic- 
tion, or  by  the  judicial  forsaking  of  God,  has  even  a 
tolerable  pretext,  aside  from  the  theory  that  makes  up 
Buch  a  construction  for  its  own  sake.     Even  the  justice 


244  Christ's 

of  God  is  more  adequately  impressed  and  set  before  the 
world  more  convincingly,  without  any  so  revolting  con- 
ception, than  with  it.  Never  was  there  made  before 
Buch  an  expression  of  God's  abhorrence  to  sin,  as  in 
this  recoil  of  Christ's  agony  from  it ;  never  such  honor 
put  upon  God's  instituted  justice,  as  in  Christ's  submig- 
sion  to  the  corporate  woe  and  penal  madness  of  it 
Never  was  the  horrible  nature  of  sin  so  revealed  to  hu- 
man conviction,  as  by  this  agony  of  compassion,  on  one 
side,  met  by  such  j  udicial  blindness  and  even  phrenzied 
malice,  on  the  other. 

Can  there  now,  my  friends,  be  any  thing  more  strange 
than  that  multitudes  of  you,  having  had  full  time  to 
ponder  this  scene,  and  take  its  meaning  after  the  fact, 
should  still  adhere  to  your  sin,  nay  should  even  be  quite 
insensible  to  it  and  the  feeling  of  God  concerning  it? 
Beholding  this  immense  sensibility  of  God,  you  still 
have  none!  O  it  is  even  appalling!  Eightly  conceiv- 
ing such  a  fact,  you  would  even  start  from  yourself  I 
Were  you  called  by  some  angel,  in  the  brightness  of 
the  sun,  or  by  voices  of  thunder  in  the  clouds,  it  would 
signify  much  less ;  but  that  you  should  not  feel  the  silent 
call  of  God's  feeling  ought  to  make  you  think  even 
with  dread  of  yourself.  When  the  Christ  of  Gethsem- 
ane  meets  you  bathed  in  the  sad  drops  of  his  divine 
sorrow,  there  certainly  ought,  if  there  be  any  feeling 
left,  to  be  some  answering  sorrow  in  you.  Is  there  still 
none?  What  a  relation  this  between  your  sensibility 
and  goodqess — functional   death,  lying   as   a  rock  id 


OR    MORAL    SUFFERING,  245 

Gethsemane,  feeling  as  little  that  horror  of  sin,  softened 
as  little  by  that  sorrowing  love!  O  thou  highly  gifted 
creature,  what  kind  of  attainment  hast  thou  made ! 

The  lessons  derivable  to  us,  my  brethren,  from  this 
subject  are  many;  I  can  only  call  attention  specially  to 
tliis  one,  that  as  Christ  suffers  in  his  agony,  not  by  tlie 
forsaking  of  God,  not  by  any  kind  of  infliction  making 
compensation  to  eternal  justice,  but  naturally,  because 
of  his  character,  and  the  crisis  into  which  he  has  come, 
so  there  will  be  times  and  conditions  where  we  shall 
suffer  in  Uke  manner,  according  to  our  measures,  and 
the  degree  of  our  likeness  to  him.  Purity  in  us  will 
shudder,  love  in  us  will  bear  its  burden  of  sorrow.  It 
is  no  presumption  or  profanation  for  us  to  think  of 
being  with  him  in  his  passion,  we  shall  even  require  it 
of  ourselves,  as  a  necessary  Christian  evidence.  Even 
as  he  himself  declares — "  ye  shall  indeed  drink  of  my 
cup."  Not  that  we  are  to  be  as  deep  in  the  pains  of  holy 
sensibility  as  he — that  is  impossible.  Not  that  we  are  to 
make  a  point  of  suffering  much,  and  be  always  talking 
of  some  dreadful  burden  that  is  on  us,  and  having  it  as 
a  point  of  merit  to  be  always  in  a  groaning  testimony. 
Christ  did  not  make  a  three-years'  funeral  of  his  minis- 
try. Once  he  had  a  heavy  struggle  of  temptation, 
telling  never  a  word  about  it  but  the  close.  Once,  and 
again,  he  wept.  Once  he  declared  that  his  soul  was 
troubled.  Once  he  fell  into  an  agony,  and  was  very 
soon  through  with  it.  It  was  never  his  way  to  suffer 
more  than  he  must,  or  to  call  for  sympathy  by  a  show 
of  his  sorrows.     On  the  other  hand,  no  disciple  is  to  make 

21* 


24(5  Christ's  agony, 

a  merit  of  being  alwiijs  floated  in  a  luxury  of  bliss,  as 
if  the  gospel  had  no  purpose  more  rugged  aud  practical 
than  simply  to  beget  an  elysian  frame.  Much  less  may 
a  disciple  think  it  well  that  he  suffers  nothing,  or  i? 
never  overcast  in  his  feeling,  when  the  simple  reasor 
is  that  his  soul  is  cased  in  the  indifference  of  sloth  and 
worldly  living.  No  pangs  of  life  are  suffered  by  the 
dead !  As  certainly  as  your  Master's  loA^e  is  in  you, 
his  work  will  be  upon  you.  His  objects  will  be  yours, 
and  also  his  divine  burden.  And  sometimes  that  bur- 
den will  be.  heavy.  If  your  heart  grows  pure,  it  will 
just  so  far  be  shocked  and  revolted  by  the  wrath  and 
wrong  of  evil-doers.  As  certainly  as  you  have  feeling, 
you  will  have  the  pains  of  feeling.  Expect  to  have 
your  part  then  with  Jesus  in  his  Gethsemahe.  Come 
in  freely  hither,  tarry  ye  here  and  watch.  Out  of 
his  agony  learn  how  to  bear  an  enemy;  what  to  do 
for  your  enemies  and  God's.  If  your  intercessions 
sometimes  turn  to  groans,  if  you  sometimes  wonder 
that  being  a  Christian  you  are  yet  so  heavily,  painfully 
burdened,  almost  crushed  with  concern  for  such  as  you 
are  trying  to  save,  let  your  comfort  be  that  so  you 
drink  indeed  your  Master's  cup.  If  your  love  is  re- 
pelled with  scorn,  and  your  good  work  baffled,  and 
your  heart  grows  heavy  under  sorrow  and  discourage- 
ment— ready  to  sink  under  its  load — come  hither  and 
pray  with  Jesus  in  his  sweat  of  blood,  "let  this  cup  pass 
from  me."  If  wickedness  grows  hot  in  malice  round 
you,  if  conspiracy  and  violence  array  themselves 
against  you,  go  apart  into  this  Gethsemane  of  your 


OR    MORAL    SUFFERING.  247. 

Lord's  troubles,  and  be  sure  that  some  good  angel  sball 
be  sent  to  strengthen  you ;  is  not  Christ's  heart  wringing 
for  jou  more  bitterly  than  yours  for  itself — tarry  ye  here 
and  watch.  If  some  demon  of  impatience  whispers, 
here  or  there,  *'why  not  give  it  up?"  behold  the  ago- 
nizing obedience  of  Christ,  faithful  unto  death,  and  say, 
with  him,  ''  not  as  I  will  but  as  thou  wilt."  Look  for 
no  mere  holiday  of  frames,  but  for  such  kind  of  joy  as 
a  heart  may  yield  that  is  many  times  broken  by  sacri- 
fice. Behold  your  Master  prostrate  on  the  ground,  and 
by  his  agony  and  bloody  sweat,  be  girded  for  a  passion 
of  your  own.  Consent  with  Christ  to  suffer ;  and  when 
having  gotten  his  victory,  he  says  "rise,  let  us  be 
going,"  go,  not  faltering,  even  though  he  lead  you  to 
the  cross. 


XII. 

THE  PHySICAL  SUFFERING.  OR  CROSS  OF  CHRIST. 


For  it  became  him^  for  whom  are  all  things,  and  by 
whom  are  all  things^  in  bringing  many  sons  unto  glory^ 
10  make  the  capta.in  of  their  salvation  perfect  through 
sufferings. — Heb.  ii,  10. 

It  is  a  fact  worthy  of  distinct  notice,  that  our  apos- 
tle is  here  making  answer  to  the  very  same  question 
that  Anselm  propounded  for  settlement,  a  thousand 
years  afterward,  in  his  yerj  famous  treatise,  the  Our 
DeusHomof  And  despite  of  the  very  great  admiration 
won  by  this  treatise,  I  feel  obliged  to  suffer  an  impress- 
ion, that  the  apostle  has  greatly  the  advantage ;  writing 
out  his  answer  with  a  freer  hand,  and  a  far  more  pierc- 
ing insight,  and  presenting,  in  fact,  the  whole  subject 
more  adequately,  in  a  single  sentence,  than  the  much 
venerated  father  was  able  to  do  in  the  high  theological 
endeavor  of  his  volume. 

In  tlie  verse  previous  to  this  sentence,  which  is  my 
text,  finding  Jesus  made  a  little  lower  than  the  angels, 
and,  for  the  suffering  of  death,  crowned  with  glory  and 
honor,   it  is   as   if   his   mind   began   to   ask,    even  as 


THE    PHYSICAL    SUFFERING,    ETC.  249 

Anselm  did,  why  should  he  suffer  thus,  or  come,  in  the 
way  of  suffering,  at  all  ?  why  could  not  God,  the  Al- 
mighty, strike  out  the  needed  salvation  by  a  shorter 
method,  without  suffering,  viz.,  by  his  omnipotenx 
force?  Whereupon  he  makes  answer,  virtually,  that 
force  is  out  of  the  question ;  because  the  needed  salva- 
tion is  a  pui-ely  moral  result,  which  can  be  accom- 
plished only  by  moral  means  and  motives — "For  it  be- 
came him  " — it  was  even  a  fixed  necessity  upon  him, 
the  Almighty — "  for  whom  are  all  ihings,  and  by  whom 
are  all  things,  in  the  bringing  of  many  sons  unto  glory, 
to  make  the  captain  of  their  salvation  perfect  through 
suffering's." 

The  words  hringing  and  captain^  here  occurring,  have 
a  relationship  in  the  original,  which  would  not  be  sus- 
pected, and  which  disappears  in  the  English ;  as  if  we 
should  read — "in  the  bringing  on  of  many  sons  unto 
glory,  to  make  the  bringer  on"  &c.  There  is  no  im- 
portance however  in  this  reading,  such  as  might  be  sup- 
posed, for  a  captain  is  a  leader  and  bringer  on  of  course ; 
only  we  3onceive  the  passage  more  fitly,  if  the  family 
relationship  of  the  two  words  is  understood.  The  de- 
claration is,  and  that  is  the  matter  of  chief  importance, 
that  God,  the  Almighty,  must  needs  w^ork  morally  m 
such  a  case,  and  not  by  force:  and  that  Christ,  the 
leader,  is  made  perfect,  or  perfectly  competent,  as 
regards  the  moral  new  creation,  or  bringing  up  unto 
glory,  bj  his  cross  and  the  tragic  eloquence  of  his 
death. 

That  we  may  fully  develop  the  apostle's  meaning  in 


250  THE     PHYSICAL    SUFFERING, 

this  general  announcement,  and  verifj^  it  in  the  orderly 
exposition  of  the  points  included  under  it,  let  us  begin 
at  the  qusstion  where  he  appears  to  have  begun  him- 
self; viz.,  why  should  Christ,  in  the  redeeming  of  soulsj 
and  bringing  them  unto  glory,  subject  himself  to  physiral 
suffering  f — what,  in  other  words,  were  the  necessities  and 
uses  of  that  suffering  f 

I  confine  the  question  here,  it  will  be  observed,  to 
his  physical  suffering.  He  encountered  two  distinct 
kinds  of  suffering,  as  we  commonly  use  the  term,  viz., 
mental  suffering,  and  bodily  suffering ;  that  which  be- 
longs to  burdened  feeling  and  wounded  sensibility,  and 
that  which  is  caused  by  outward  privation,  or  violence 
done  against  the  physical  nature ;  that  which  appears 
more  especially  in  the  agony,  and  that  which  appears 
in  the  death  of  the  cross.  The  former  kind  of  suffer- 
ing I  believe  is  never  called  suffering  in  the  New  Test- 
ament, but  a  being  grieved;  a  bearing,  or  a  burden,  as 
in  sympathy  and  loving  concern;  a  being  troubled 
in  sjjirit,  or  very  heavy;  sorrow;  agony.  The  word 
suffering  is  applied,  meantime,  I  think,  only  to  physical 
suffering ;  and  was  doubtless  used  by  the  apostle,  in  the 
present  instance,  as  relating  to  Christ's  physical  suffer- 
ing only. 

It  is  obvious  enough  then,  at  the  outset,  and  as  the 
Qrst  thing  to  be  noted,  that  physical  suffering,  taken  by 
itself,  or  as  being  simply  what  it  is  in  itself,  is  never  a 
thing  of  value.  On  the  contrary  it  is,  so  far,  a  thing 
on  the  losing  side  of  existence,  a  subtraction  from  the 


OR    CROSS    OF    CHRIST.  251 

general  sum  of  good.  It  will  not  help  a  friend,  or  feed 
an  enemy,  or  stop  a  fire,  or  cool  a  fever.  To  tlie  sufferer 
himself,  looking  never  to  any  thing  beyond  it,  or  con- 
sequent upon  it,  but  simply  at  what  it  is,  it  has  no  inhe- 
rent value,  like  wheat  and  wool,  and  no  market  value, 
like  gold.  It  is  not,  in  fact,  a  commodity  of  any  kind, 
exchangeable  or  not  exchangeable,  but  a  simple  incom- 
modity — a  quantity  purely  negative  and  a  worse  than 
worthless  fact. 

And  the  same  exactly  is  true  of  Christ's  suffering. 
Taken  as  physical  pain  simply,  nothing  is  to  be  made 
of  it.  All  the  worse  and  more  deplorable  is  the  loss  or 
negation  of  it,  that  it  is  a  suffering  which  has  no  rela- 
tion to  personal  desert ;  and  still  more  deplorable  in  the 
fact  that,  regarding  the  divine  order  of  the  sufferer,  it 
is  even  a  shocking  anomaly,  which  reason  can  not  com- 
prehend and  faith  only  can  accept.  God  certainly  did  not 
want  it  as  wanting  to  get  so  much  suffering  out  of  some- 
body. He  does  not  exact  a  retributive  suffering,  even  in 
what  is  called  his  justice,  because  he  wants  so  much  in 
quantity  to  even  the  account  of  wrong,  but  only  that 
he  may  vindicate  the  right  and  testify  his  honor  to  it  by 
a  fit  expression.  Nothing  could  be  more  horrible,  or 
closer  akin  to  blasphemy,  than  to  say  that  God  wants 
pain  for  his  own  feeling's  sake ;  or  because  he  is  hun- 
gry for  that  particular  kind  of  satisfaction.  We  have 
it  as  a  proverb,  that  "revenge  is  sweet;"  but  I  recollect 
no  proverb  which  avers  that  justice  is  sweet;  because 
the  mind  of  justice  is  a  right  mind,  as  the  mind  of  re- 
venge is  not ;  and,  being  right,  no  pain  is  sweet  to  it,  not 


252 

even  that  which  chastises  injustice  nnd  sin.  Besides.^ 
there  is,  it  is  agreed,  no  justice  in  the  pains  of  Christ,  aa 
being  due  on  his  own  account ;  and  it  ought  to  be  as 
well  agreed  that  God  could  not  take  them  as  compensa- 
tions on  account  of  others.  That  would  be  taking  them 
as  actual  somethings,  or  quantities  having  value  in 
themselves,  when,  in  fact,  they  have,  as  we  have  seen, 
no  value  at  all.  Nay  worse,  if  God  takes  them,  he  geta 
only  incommodities  for  his  satisfaction,  and  makes  a 
gain  that  is  purely  harm  and  loss. 

But  some  one  will  object  in  the  question — are  not  the 
physical  sufferings  of  Christ  what  are  called,  in  the 
scripture,  his  sacrifice  for  sin?  and  what  is  the  use  of 
sacrifice  but  to  atone  God's  justice?  I  do  not  un- 
derstand the  scripture  to  speak  of  suffering  and  sacri- 
fice in  that  manner.  Thus  we  hear  an  apostle  say — 
"  made  perfect  through  sufferings  " — for  what  made  per- 
fect? for  the  satisfying  of  God's  justice?  IsTo,  but  "to 
bring  many  souls  unto  glory."  "Lamb  of  God  that 
taketh  away" — what?  the  pains  of  justice?  No,  but 
"  the  sins  of  the  world."  "  Who  his  own  self  bare  our 
sins  in  his  own  body  on  the  tree  " — for  what  end  ?  that 
God  might  be  satisfied  with  his  pains?  No,  but  "that 
we  being  dead  unto  sin,  should  live  unto  righteousness  ;'^ 
"By  whose  stripes" — what  of  the  stripes?  do  they  pay 
off  the  release  of  ours? — "by  whose  stripes  ye  were 
healed."  "  For  Christ  also  hath  once  suffered  for  sina, 
the  just  for  the  unjust" — in  what  view?  to  satisfy  the 
justice  of  God?  no,  but  "  to  brii.g  us  nnto  God."  All 
the  lustral  figures — those  of  washing,  purging,  sprink 


OR     CROSS     OF     CHRIST.  253 

ling,  purifying,  cleansing — set  forth  the  sacrifice  in  the 
same  manner,  not  as  a  way  of  reconciling  God  to  us,' 
but  of  reconciling  us  to  God.  And  so  universally — I 
do  not  know  the  instance  where  Christ's  cross  and  phy- 
sical suffering  are  conceived  as  a  making  satisfaction  to 
God's  justice. 

Regarding  Christ's  sufferings  then  as  having  no  value 
in  themselves,  on  the  ground  of  which  they  may  be 
accepted  as  compensations  to  justice,  we  must  not  leap 
to  the  conclusion  that  Christ  could  do  nothing  in  a  way 
of  bringing  men  to  God,  without  such  sufferings.  He 
could  even  have  been  incarnated  into  the  world,  in  such 
a  way  as  to  involve  no  physical  liability  at  all.  He 
might  even  have  been  incarnated,  I  suppose,  into  the 
family  of  Caesar,  and  strid  into  his  mission,  as  a  prince 
iron-clad,  in  all  the  dignities  and  immunities  of  the 
Empire.  He  might  have  taught  the  same  doctrine, 
omitting  only  his  call  to  take  up  the  cross,  which  he 
taught  as  the  son  of  Mary.  He  might  have  healed  as 
great  multitudes,  with  as  kind  a  sympathy.  He  might 
even  have  been  followed,  if  he  chose,  by  trains  of  great 
people,  as  he  was  by  the  humble  and  the  poor,  dining 
at  their  tables,  lodging  in  their  palaces,  receiving  all 
the  while  the  highest  honors  of  genius.  Or  if  it  should 
be  imagined  that,  teaching  faithfully  the  same  prin- 
ciples, and  rebuking  the  same  sins,  and  offering  him- 
self to  men  as  the  incarnate  Word  and  Lord,  he  must 
of  nece^sity  provoke  the  hatred  of  enemies,  and  stir  up 
powerful  conspiracies  of  violence  and  bigot  zeal,  what 
suffering  could  they  bring  upon  him,  armed  as  he  was 

14^ 


254  THE, 

with  miracle,  strongly  enough  even  to  have  routed  the 
Roman  army?  As  the  posse  that  went  out  to  arrest 
him  coul.l  not  strengthen  their  knees  to  stand,  or  their 
hands  to  seize,  but  fell  backward  on  the  ground  even 
as  moths  fall  off  from  flames  they  attack ;  as  the  money 
cliangers  and  trafficking  priests  fled  away  before  him, 
taken  by  a  strange  panic  that  no  single  man  ever 
raised  before;  so  he  could  have  withered  Caiaphas  by  a 
look,  and  dashed  his  accusers  away,  as  a  rock  tosses  otf 
the  sea ;  making  Pilate's  wife  dream  a  great  deal  worse 
dreams  than  she  did,  and  causing  the  poor  servile 
magistrate  himself  to  be  a  good  deal  "more  afraid" 
than  he  was ;  and  as  to  being  gibbeted  on  the  cross,  if 
the  conspiracy  could  have  gone  so  far,  he  probably 
enough  could  have  changed  the  wood  into  water,  as  he 
did  the  water  into  wine.  There  was,  in  short,  no 
necessary  condition  of  physical  suffering  implied  in  his 
Messiahship.  He  probably  could  not  have  been  as 
complete  a  Saviour  without  physical  suffering,  but  he 
could  have  been  a  wonderfully  great  character  and  be- 
neficent teacher,  as  clear  of  spot  or  stain,  as  true  in  hia 
trutti,  as  wise  in  his  wisdom,  as  evidently,  and  some 
would  say,  a  great  deal  more  evidently,  divine. 

If  then  Christ's  physical  sufferings,  taken  as  such, 
had  no  value,  and  if  he  could  have  been  incarnated  in 
the  human  state  without  suffering — doing  and  teaching, 
to  a  great  extent,  the  same  things — why  did  he  come 
under  conditions  of  suffering,  what  uses  did  he  expect 
to  serve  by  it,  such  as  would  compensate  the  loss?  It 
was  done  I  answer,  that  he  might  be  made  perfect  by 


OR    CROSS    OF    CHRIST.  255 

Buch  suffering — perfect,  that  is,  not  in  his  character,  but 
in  his  official  competency;  perfect  as  having  gotten 
power  over  men,  through  his  sufferings,  to  be  the  suffi- 
cient  bringer  on,  or  captain,  he  undertakes  to  be,  in 
bringing  many  sons  unto  glory. 

Does  he  then,  it  may  be  asked,  undertake  the  suffer- 
ing as  having  that  for  his  object  or  as  consenting  to  it  for 
effect's  sake  ?  He  of  course  knows  that  he  will  suffer, 
and  how,  and  when,  and  by  whom,  and  with  what 
result,  but  he  does  not  fall  into  the  weakness  of  those 
partly  fanatical  martyrs  who  undertook  the  particular 
merit  of  being  somehow  murdered.  Coming  down  to 
do  a  work  of  love,  he  simply  took  the  liabilities  of  a 
human  person  doing  such  a  work.  He  was  not  igno- 
rant of  the  immense  value  or  power  of  a  right  and  great 
suffering,  as  regards  the  possible  effect  of  it,  and  as  sin 
w^ould  certainly  be  exasperated  by  his  goodness,  and 
drag  him  down  to  suffering,  he  meant  beforehand  to 
make  it  a  right  and  great  suffering,  and  so  to  win  do- 
minion by  it.  He  suffered  understandingly,  therefore, 
as  the  Lamb  that  was  slain  from  the  foundation  of  the 
world,  though  not  as  aiming  to  get  himself  afflicted,  or 
to  make  an  ostentation  of  being  wronged. 

"What,  then,  we  have  now  to  look  after,  is  the  man- 
ner  and  degree  of  that  power  over  men's  convictions 
and  feelings,  which  Christ  obtained  by  his  physical  suf- 
fering. And  the  points  to  which  I  call  your  attention 
are  such  as  these. 

1.  The  manner  in  which,  by  his  physical  suffering,  lie 


256  THE    PHYSICAL     SUFFERING, 

magnifies  and  sanctifies  tlie  law  in  men's  convictions. 
This  in  fact  was  a  kind  of  first  point  to  be  carried  in 
getting  the  necessary  power  over  fallen  minds.  The 
speculation  that  requires  him  to  suffer  in  a  way  of  help- 
ing God  to  justify  himself  in  the  forgiveness  of  sins, 
before  certain  great  judicial  minds  in  other  worlds  and 
spheres,  is  a  speculation  that  to  say  the  least  travels  far, 
and  the  scripture  gives  it  no  help.  The  true  Christian 
iilea  appears  to  be  that  Christ  is  magnifying  the  law, 
and  making  it  honorable,  not  before  the  remote  alti- 
tudes, but  before  the  sinning  souls  of  this  world  by 
whom  it  has  been  trampled.  How  else  shall  they  ever 
be  regained  ?  God  is  an  essentially  practical  and  not  a 
romantic  being.  He  will  not  concern  himself  about 
the  figure  he  makes  in  the  forgiveness  of  sins,  before 
the  outlying  populations  of  his  realm,  if  only  he  can 
bring  transgressors  down  to  ask  forgiveness  here  on 
earth,  by  making  the  pinnacles  of  order  smoke  before 
their  guilty  consciences. 

See  then  how  he  does  it  in  the  matter  of  Christ's 
physical  suffering.  He  came  into  the  world  with  a  per- 
fect right  to  be  exempted  from  such  suffering.  There 
is  nothing  in  his  character  to  require  this  kind  of  disci- 
pline, or  even  to  make  it  just.  He  also  had  power  to 
put  all  suffering  by,  and  sail  over  the  world  as  the 
stars  do,  in  a  region  of  calm  and  comfort  above  it.  He 
could  have  exorcised  the  wild  hate  of  his  enemies,  as  he 
did  the  poor  lunatics  of  the  Gergesenes.  By  his  power 
of  miracle,  if  not  without,  he  could  have  driven  Pilate 
and  his   accusers  out   of  the  judgment-hall  into  th? 


OR    CROSS    OF    CHRIST.  25? 

street,  passing  intact  through  all  the  conspirfxies  of  his 
enemies,  even  as  Moses  passed  through  the  sea.  But 
he  would  not  so  far  infringe  on  the  penal  order  of 
God's  retributions.  Looking  on  society,  in  its  madness 
against  him  and  against  the  truth,  as  grinding  in  God'a 
mill  of  retribution,  swayed,  and  rent  and  tortured  by 
exasperating  causes  in  the  guilt  of  its  own  transgres- 
sion, he  refuses  to  take  himself  out  of  the  general 
torment.  Having  taken  humanity,  he  takes  all  the 
judicial  liabilities  of  human  society  under  sin,  prefer- 
ring, in  this  manner,  to  submit  himself  to  the  corporate 
order  of  God's  judgments,  and  testify  in  that  manner, 
his  profound  homage  to  law  and  justice.  He  will  not 
so  much  as  parry  any  one  of  the  bad  causations  loos- 
ened by  sin.  He  will  let  the  world  be  to  him  just  that 
river  of  vinegar  and  gall  which  its  sins  have  made  it  to 
itself  So  he  bears  the  world's  bitter  curse,  magnifying, 
even  by  his  pains,  the  essential  sanctity  of  law  and 
justice. 

He  suffers  nothing  as  from  justice  to  himself,  and 
therefore  makes  no  satisfaction  to  the  justice  of  God. 
But  he  powerfully  honors  that  justice  in  its  dealings 
with  the  world,  by  refusing  to  let  even  his  innocence 
take  him  out  of  the  murderous  and  bloody  element  it 
mixes.  Hence  the  marvelous,  unheard-of  power  his 
life  and  gospel,  and  especially  his  suffering  death,  have 
exerted  in  men's  consciences.  His  suffering  has  this 
wonderful  divine  art  in  it,  that  it  sanctifies  both  for- 
giveness and  justice,  and  makes  them  common  factors 
of  good,  in  the  conscience  of  all  transgression. 


258  THE 

2.  The  physical  suffering  of  Christ  has  an  immediate 
value,  under  that  great  law  of  human  nature,  that  or- 
dains the  disarming  of  all  wrong,  and  the  jDrostration 
oi  all  violence,  by  a  right  suffering  of  the  evils  they 
inflict.  Nothing  breaks  the  bad  will  of  evil  so  com- 
p^etely,  as  to  have  had  its  way,  and  done  its  injury,  and 
looked  upon  its  victim.  And  if  the  victim,  suffering 
even  the  worst  it  could  do,  still  lives  unvanquished,  the 
defeat  is  only  a  more  absolute  and  stunning  paralysis. 
Thus  in  the  bitting  of  horses,  the  animal  champs  the 
bit  as  if  he  would  crush  it,  and  throws  himself  on  the 
rein  as  if  he  would  snap  it,  till  finding  that  he  only 
worries  and  galls  himself,  he  at  last  gives  way  to  what 
has  not  given  way  to  him,  and  so  is  tamed,  or,  as  we 
say,  broken  to  the  rein.  So  when  the  wrath  of  trans- 
gression hurls  itself  upon  the  Lord's  person,  sparing 
not  his  life,  nor  even  letting  him  die  easily  or  in  respect, 
the  bad  will  is  only  the  more  fatally  broken  that,  ac- 
complishing so  much  in  a  way  so  dreadful,  it  has  yet 
accomplished  nothing.  It  has  mocked  him,  tortured 
him,  thrust  him  out  of  life,  only  to  find  him  still  alive 
and  see  him  go  up  to  reign !  In  one  view  it  has  suc- 
ceeded against  him,  and  he  has  been  seemingly  crushed 
under  the  heel  of  its  malignity.  It  has  pierced  the 
noblest  heart  and  seen  it  bleed.  It  has  finished  the 
worst,  most  shocking  deed  of  murder  ever  conceived. 
And  yet  that  murdered  one  still  lives  and  loves !  How 
dreadfully  crest-fallen  now  and  weak  is  that  bad  will, 
how  nearly  slain  itself  by  what  it  has  done !  Nay,  to 
have  only  spent  so  great  malignity,  and  come  to  the 


OR    CROSS    OF    CHRIST.  259 

point  of  exhaustion,  would  produce  a  nearly  mortal 
weakness.  Suffering  kills,  how  often,  the  wrong-doing 
that  inflicts  it.  The  man  of  blood  who  looks  upon  his 
murdered  enemy  is  disarmed  by  the  sight.  Even  if 
there  seemed  to  have  been  some  provocation,  how  ten- 
der, and  soft,  and  low-spoken,  how  visibly  gentled  in 
feeling  is  he,  standing  in  the  room  where  his  lifelesa 
adversary  lies !  That  dead  face  looks  imploringly  up 
to  him,  and  his  fire  is  extinguished  by  natural  relent- 
ings.  How  much  more  when  the  murdered  one  is  a 
friend  inherently  good,  bearing  a  much  honored  name 
and  great ;  how  much  more,  if  he  is  the  incarnate  Son 
of  God; -still  more,  if  he  is  not  only  killed,  but  cruci- 
fied, hung  up  thus  to  be  looked  upon  depending  from 
his  cross — sad,  broken  flower,  which  the  spite  of  so 
^Teat  beauty  has  plucked !  0  how  weak,  irresolute, 
guilt-broken,  now,  is  all  sin,  when  confronted  by  that 
suffering  goodness  which  reveals  at  once,  both  its  spite 
and  its  impotence!  "I  am  Jesus  of  Nazareth  whom 
thou  persecutest " — How  piercing  is  the  word ! 

8.  The  sublime  morality,  or  moral  worth  of  Jesns, 
could  never  have  been  sharply  impressed,  except  for 
the  sensibilities  appealed  to  by  his  physical  suffering. 
If  he  had  come  as  one  born  of  a  good  family,  if  he  had 
been  a  considerable  owner  of  real  estate,  if  he  had 
made  his  journeys  in  a  chariot,  lodging,  at  night,  witli 
distinguished  senators  and  persons  of  consideration,  if 
he  had  been  a  great  scholar  among  the  Kabbis,  or  had 
been  familiar  to  the  people  in  the  livery  of  a  judge,  or 
a  priest,  winning  great  popularity  by  the  profasenes* 


260  THE    PHYSICAL     SUFFERING, 

of  his  charities,  and  exciting  even  applause  by  hia 
attention  to  low  people  and  his  tender  ministry  to  their 
diseases ;  dying  finally  by  some  of  the  modes  that  are 
common,  to  be  followed  to  his  burial  by  multitudes  that 
come  to  weep  their  loss  at  his  grave — if,  I  say,  he  had 
lived  in  condition,  and  died  as  one  admired  for  his  ex- 
cellence, the  real  depth  of  his  virtue  could  never  even 
have  been  conceived.  He  would  only  have  been  looked 
upon  as  fulfilling  the  type  of  a  graciously  benevolent 
gentleman,  and  described  as  the  John  Joseph  Gurney 
of  his  time.  Ko,  it  was  only  as  he  waived  the  honors  of 
condition  in  his  birth,  and  the  comforts  of  property  in 
his  life,  became  a  wayfarer,  hungered  often,  slept  under 
the  sky  shivering  with  cold,  spent  himself  daily  in  ex- 
hausting sympathies  and  got  almost  no  sympathy  in 
return,  met  the  looks  of  crafty  messengers  and  spies  on 
every  side,  and  scarcely  found  a  place,  except  in  the  lone 
recesses  of  the  mountains,  where  his  ear  was  not  all 
day,  perhaps  all  night,  saluted  by  the  carping  sounds  of 
bigot  voices  quarreling  with  his  doctrine,  ending  finally 
his  hunted,  hated,  weary  life,  by  a  slave's  death  on  the 
cross — this  too,  even  for  enemies,  as  truly  as  for  his 
friends — it  is  here  that  we  begin  to  really  look  down 
into  the  deeps  of  his  great  bosom,  deeps  holy  and  div.'ne, 
that  no  mortal  plummet  has  sounded !  And  so  he  is 
made  perfect  through  sufferings,  able  to  wake  a  sense  in 
oar  bosoms  of  what  love  is,  quickening  thoughts  in  ua 
that  are  new,  opening  sensibilities  never  before  con- 
sciously opened.  All  the  most  effective  powers,  in  short, 
of  moral  impression,  contained  in  his  character,  would 


OR    CROSS    OF    CHRIST.  261 

have  been  wanting,  if  he  had  not  borne  the  lot  of 
wrong  and  bitter  suffering. 

4.  It  is  only  by  his  suffering  in  the  flesh  that  he 
reveals  or  fitly  expresses  the  suffering  sensibility  of 
God.  As  eertainly  as  God  has  any  sensibilitj^,  such  as 
belongs  to  a  perfect  mind  and  heart,  that  sensibilit}^ 
must  be  profoundly  moved  by  all  misery,  impurity  and 
wrong.  Impassible,  physically  speaking,  he  is  not  im- 
passive to  evils  that  offend,  or  grieve,  his  moral  perfec- 
tions. Indeed  his  vast  and  glorious  nature  is,  in  this 
view,  nothing  but  an  immense  sensibility,  whose  dis- 
likes, disgusts,  indignations,  revulsions  of  pity,  wounded 
compassions,  afflicted  sympathies,  pains  of  violated  ten- 
derness, wrongs  of  ingratitude,  are  mingling  and  com- 
mingling, as  cups  of  gall,  for  the  pure  good  feeling  of 
bis  breast.  So  far  he  suffers  because  he  is  a  perfect  be- 
ing, and  according  to  the  measure  of  his  perfection. 
Why,  if  he  could  not  hate  what  is  hateful,  pity  what  is 
pitiful,  mourn  for  the  hopeless,  burn  against  the  cruel, 
scent  the  disgusts  of  the  impure — if  all  bad  things  and 
all  good  were  just  alike  to  him,  what  is  he  better  than 
granite  or  ice  ?  No,  the  glorious,  all-moving  fact  is,  that 
there  is  a  great  sensibility  at  the  head  of  the  worlds, 
and  a  mental  suffering  as  great,  when  the  worlds  go 
wrong ! 

This  accordingly  it  is,  that  we,  as  sinners,  need  m.ost 
of  all  to  know  and  to  feel,  and  this  that  Christ,  for  our 
salvation's  sake,  has  taken  the  flesh  and  suffered  even 
death,  to  impress.  ISTature,  in  her  scenes  and  objects, 
had  no  po\^  er  to  express  this  moral  pain  of  God's  heait. 


262  THE 

The  ancient  providential  history  Avas  trying  always 
vainly  to  elaborate  the  same ;  testifying,  in  almost  every 
chapter,  of  God's  sorrows,  griefs,  repentings,  loathings, 
displeasures,  and  his  afflictions  over  the  afflicted. 
Nothing  could  ever  express  it  but  the  phj^sical  suffer- 
ing of  Jesus.  Here,  for  the  first  time,  a  vehicle  ig 
found  that  will  sufficiently  bring  home  to  our  guilty 
feeling  God's  wounded  feeling,  and  put  us  in  real  ac- 
quaintance with  that  suffering  state  of  love,  which  hia 
unseen  goodness  feels. 

And  every  thing  turns  here,  you  will  perceive,  on 
the  matter  of  physical  suffering ;  foi;,  to  our  coarse  hu- 
man habit,  nothing  else  appears,  at  first,  to  have  much 
reality.  In  the  agony,  for  example,  the  real  suffering 
is  mental,  and  the  great  struggle,  a  struggle  purely  of 
feeling.  But  if  it  were  not  for  the  physical  symptoms 
attendant,  the  prostrations,  the  audible  groans,  and 
above  all,  the  body  dripping,  in  blood-like  drops, 
forced  through  the  skin  by  the  pains  of  the  mind — 
were  it  not  for  these  physical  tokens  we  should  get  no 
impression  of  a  suffering  sensibility,  that  would  be  of 
much  account.  We  should  only  look  on  drowsily, 
doubting  probably  how  much,  or  what  kind  of,  reality 
there  may  be  in  this  rather  dull  scenic  of  the  gospels ! 

And  here  is  the  precise  relation  of  the  agony  and  the 
cross.  One  is  the  reality,  the  other  is  the  outward  sign 
or  symbol.  Having  all  the  niental  sensibility  Christ  has 
regarding  our  sin,  and  shame,  and  wrong,  and  fearfully 
loot  statCj  he  still  needs  to  be  made  perfect  through 
physical  sufferings,  or  by  these  to  have  his  higher  sen- 


OR    CROSS    OF    CHRIST.  268 

gibility  brought  forth  into  power.  He  is  perfect  before, 
in  all  the  pains  of  his  perfect  sensibility,  but  to  our 
coarse,  sensuous,  undiscerning  habit,  there  is  nothing  of 
much  meaning  in  him,  till  we  watch  him  undergoing 
liis  murder!  This  physical  suffering  we  can  under- 
stand ;  the  other  is  a  great  way  off  and  very  dim. 

In  one  view  it  is  even  a  scandal  that  we  make  so 
much  more  of  the  cross  than  we  do  of  the  agony. 
And  yet  the  cross  was  appointed  for  the  culminating 
point  of  the  gospel,  partly  in  a  way  of  condescension 
to  our  lowness  and  the  want  of  our  coarseness,  and  ia 
really  the  greater  for  that  reason.  The  grand  thing  to 
be  revealed  is  that  which  stands  in  the  agony ;  and  the 
superior  value  of  the  cross,  or  physical  suffering,  lies  in 
the  fact  that  it  comes  to  us,  at  our  low  point,  speaking 
to  us  of  the  other,  in  a  way  that  we  can  feel.  When 
we  look  on  Jesus  suspended  by  nails  through  his  hands 
and  feet,  and  set  up  to  die  a  slow  death,  in  delirium  and 
thirst  and  fever,  we  do  have  raised  in  our  bosoms  a  lit- 
tle natural  sensibility.  And,  taken  hold  of  by  that, 
our  apprehensions  will  perhaps  be  sufficiently  fixed,  at 
last,  to  let  us  in  where  that  deeper,  and  warmer,  and 
more  agonizing,  sensibility  heaves  unseen  in  the  mental 
compassions  of  God ! 

Let  us  not  be  too  much  taken,  my  friends,  by 
the  typology  in  which  our  gospel  is  here  and  there  so 
feebly  and  pretensively  dressed — the  low  perceptions, 
and  the  short  culture,  always  putting  their  cheap  hon- 
ors and  ornaments  upon  it.  I  speak  not  here  of  the 
cross  set  up  as  a  symbol  on  our  peaks  of  architecture, 


264 

worn  upon  the  person,  painted  on  the  banners  of  the 
religion  itself;  bat  I  speak  of  the  crucifixes,  and  the 
carefull}'  carv^ed  distresses  of  the  dying  Lord,  the  drop- 
pings of  blood,  the  contortions  of  form,  the  pallors  of 
death  so  elaborately  p  linted,  and  the  generally  over- 
done studies  of  art,  by  which  Christ's  dying  woe  is 
magnified  as  being,  not  the  sign,  but  the  all  of  his  suf- 
fering. The  very  shallow,  feeble  look  of  such  art, 
the  want  of  all  high  insight  in  it,  is  abundantly  morti- 
fying. There  is  scarcely  a  doubt  that  Christ  suffered 
more  intensely  in  the  agony,  where  the  pain  was  wholly 
mental,  than  he  did  upon  the  cross.  Even  the  exter- 
aal  signs  appear  to  indicate  as  much.  In  the  same  way 
too,  his  chief  suffering,  on  the  cross,  was  probably  men- 
tal and  not  bodily.  For  some  reason,  his  suffering  on 
the  cross  was  so  much  more  severe  than  that  of  the 
malefactors  crucified  with  him,  that  he  died  w^hole 
hours  before  them ;  not  because  they  did  not  suffer  as 
great  physical  pain  as  he,  but  because  he  had  a  moral 
sensibility  so  vast,  a  horror  of  wrong  so  deep,  a  con- 
cern of  love  for  his  enemies  so  wrenched  with  agony, 
that  his  heart  broke  and  his  breath  stopped,  as  it  w^ere 
before  the  time.  This  now — would  that  we  could 
think  it — was  the  real  suffering  to  him !  and  the  physi- 
cal suffering  of  the  cross  was  probably  a  matter  of  con- 
sequence to  him  principally  in  the  fact  that,  considering 
our  low,  dull  habit,  there  might  be  force  enough  in  it 
to  initiate,  or  prick  in,  as  it  were,  some  faint  impression 
of  the  other.  And  this  it  is,  this  only,  that  makes  it  a 
salvation.     It  is  a  cross  before  the  eyes,  for  beings  thai 


OR    CROSS    OF    CHRIST.  265 

live  in  their  eyes,  and  are  too  coarse  to  apprehend  the 
spiritual  things  of  God  in  a  spiritual  manner — in  that 
way  a  type  of  the  more  wondrous -and  tremendous  cross 
that  is  hid  in  God's  perfections  from  eternity.  O,  it  is 
for  this,  to  make  sin  feel  this  unseen,  tender  sensibility, 
this  pain  of  goodness,  this  fatherhood  of  sorrow — this 
it  is  that  Christ  has  undertaken  to  impress,  and  for 
this  end  he  is  made  perfect  through  sufferings.  Once 
more — 

5.  It  was  necessary  that  Christ  should  suffer  in  the 
body,  and  get  power  over  men  by  that  kind  of  suffer- 
ing, because  the  world  itself  is  put  in  a  tragic  economy, 
requiring  its  salvation  to  be  an  essentially  tragic  salva- 
tion. God  has  made  the  world,  we  all  agree,  for  the 
great  sentiments  it  will  otganize  and  bring  into  play, 
and  souls  themselves  to  be  lifted  by  that  play,  in  those 
great  sentiments.  Hence  the  wonderful  affinity  of  our 
human  nature  for  the  tragic  exaltations. 

There  may  have  been  a  prior  necessity  that  a  free 
moral  kingdom  should  include  peril,  disorder,  suffering, 
great  struggles  to  escape  great  woes,  sacrifices  in  the 
good,  wrongs  suffered  by  the  good,  to  regain  and  restore 
the  evil;  in  other  words,  there  may  have  been  a  prior 
necessity  that  the  plan  of  God's  moral  universe  should 
be  essentially  tragic  in  the  cast  of  it.  But,  whatever 
may  be  true  in  this  respect,  we  can  see,  every  man  for 
Idmself,  that  so  it  is.  No  merely  fine  sentiment,  or 
morally  high,-  is  quite  sufficient  for  us.  The  festive, 
the  gay,  the  triumphal,  the  melo-dramatic  tenderness, 
the  pastoral  sweetness,  the  flutes  of  domestic  arbors,  the 

23 


266  THE    PHYSICAL    SUFFERING, 

gongs  of  public  liberty — none  of  these  quite  satisfy, 
not  even  the  mighty  love-passion  strikes  our  highest  corda 
of  tension  till  it  draws  blood !  Blood !  blood  [  we  must 
have  blood !  Human  history  therefore  moves  on  trail- 
ing in  blood,  tragic  in  its  characters,  and  scenes,  and  its 
material  generally. 

The  great  crimes  are  tragic,  and  the  great  virtues 
scarcely  less  so.  The  tribunals  sprinkle  their  gate-posts 
with  blood.  The  stormy  passions,  honor,  jealousy,  and 
revenge,  are  letting  blood  in  all  ages;  and  the  quiet  ones 
of  trust,  and  truth,  and  worth,  do  the  bleeding. 
And  then  all  the  epics  and  romances,  and  a  great  part 
of  the  world's  poetry  go  on  to  add  imaginary  pangs 
and  troubles,  and  torture  us  still  more  with  bloody  feli- 
cities that  are  fictitious.  Practically  the  world  has  a 
general  fashion  of  suffering.  Eight  is  trampled  every- 
where, goodness  fights  with  wrong,  nations  fall,  heroes 
bleed,  and  all  great  works  are  championed  by  suffering. 
Some  Prometheus,  torn  by  his  eagle,  bleeds  painfully  on 
every  rock  waiting  to  be  loosed  from  his  chain.  So  if 
Christ  will  pluck  away  eternal  judgment  for  the  world,  he 
must  bleed  Tor  it.  So  great  a  salvation  must  tear  a 
passage  into  the  world  by  some  tragic  woe — without 
shedding  of  blood  there  is  no  remission. 

This  blood — 0,  it  is  this  that  has  a  purifying  touch, 
working  lustrally,  as  the  divine  word  conceives,  on  all 
the  stains  of  our  sin,  washing  us,  making  us  clean, 
sprinkling  even  our  evil  conscience.  This  tragic  power 
of  the  cross  takes  hold,  in  other  words,  of  all  that  is 
dullest,  and  hardest,  and  most  intractable,  in  our  sin,  and 


OR    CROSS    OF    CHRIST.  267 

moves  our  palsied  nature,  all  through,  in  migh.y  tlirobs 
of  life. 

And  this  is  Christianity;  meeting  us  just  where  we 
most  require  to  be  met.  Christ  is  a  great  bringer  on 
for  us  because  he  suffers  for  us.  Christianity  is  a 
mighty  salvation,  because  it  is  a  tragic  salvation. 
Why  my  friends,  if  it  were  not  for  this  generally  tragic 
way  in  things  about  us,  and  especially  in  religion,  I  fear 
that  we  should  have  a  more  dull  time  of  it  than  we 
think.  Indeed  I  suspect  that  even  the  same  is  true  of 
the  general  universe — it  probably  is  and  is  forever  to  be 
an  essentially  tragic  universe.  With  a  fall  and  an 
overspreading  curse  at  the  beginning,  and  a  cross  in  the 
middle,  and  a  glory  and  shame  at  the  end,  where  soula 
struggle  out,  through  perils,  and  pains,  and  broken 
chains,  or  bear  their  chains  away  unbroken  still  and  still 
to  be — how  moving,  and  mighty,  and  high,  must  be  the 
sentiment  of  it !  O  how  grandly  harrowing  is  that  joy, 
how  tremulous  in  tragic  excitement  is  that  song  of  as- 
cription, roaring  as  a  sea-surge  round  the  throne — 
"  unto  him  that  loved  us,  and  washed  us  from  our  sins 
in  his  blood!" 

Concluding  at  this  point,  my  brethren,  the  exposition 
I  have  undertaken,  you  will  not  fail  to  note  how  it 
gathers  in  its  force  .ipon  this  table  and  rite  of  com- 
munion before  us.  These  symbols,  bread  and  wine, 
body  and  blood,  represent  exactly  what  is  most  physi- 
cal in  Christ's  suffering.  But  they  do  not  stop  in  that, 
as  if  there  were  a  value  in  the  pains.     They  are  even 


268  THE 

a  language,  as  that  was,  bearing  an  impression  of  some- 
thing higher.  Thej  say  "  made  perfect  through  suffer- 
ings;" calling  up  to  be  thought,  and  received,  just  all 
that  I  have  here  been  trying  to  unfold,  ^f  the  power 
which  our  Master  was  obtaining,  by  his  dreadful  cross 
and  passion. 

Back  of  the  wood  and  the  nails,  back  of  the  suffer- 
ing body,  there  was  another  cross,  another  suffering, 
even  that  of  God's  deep  love,  struggling  out  through 
the  blood  and  the  pain,  to  make  its  revelation  felt  in  us. 
And  this  for  what?  To  bring  many  sons,  that  is  to 
bring  us  all,  unto  glory. 

Suffering  and  glory !  even  so ;  in  that  tragic  copula, 
the  gospel  stands,  and  it  is  remarkable  how  many  times 
it  recurs.  "  Ought  not  Christ  to  suffer  these  things,  and 
to  enter  into  his  glory  ?"  "  For  the  suffering  of  death, 
crowned  with  glory  and  honor" — "The  sufferings  of 
Christ  and  the  glory  that  should  follow" — "A  witness 
of  the  suffering  of  Christ,  and  a  partaker  of  the  glory 
that  should  be  revealed" — "Who  hath  called  us  unto 
eternal  glory,  by  Christ  Jesus,  after  that  ye  have  suffered 
awhile" — responses  all,  as  it  were,  to  the  word — 
"  made  perfect  through  sufferings  in  bringing  many 
sons  unto  glory." 

Here,  too,  as  you  have  noted,  Christ's  sufferings  for 
UP,  and  ours  for  him,  and  his  glory,  and  our  glory,  are 
blended  all  together,  heaving  in  a  common  passion, 
Bhining  in  a  common  glory.  And  thus  it  is,  my  breth- 
ren, that  our  ascended  Master,  by  these  communioD 
tokens,  pledges  us  to-day  our  right  to  suffer  with  him, 


OR    CROSS    OF    CHRIST.  269 

and  to  be  strengthened  with  him  according  to  hig 
glorious  power.  And  what  we  call  his  glory,  is,  if  we 
rightly  understand,  but  this  same  glorious  power,  oi 
powerful ness  of  glory — no  phantom  of  displa}^,  or  daz- 
zling crown,  conferred  by  servile  worshipers  wanting  a 
liero,  but  that  most  solid  kind  of  merit  which  is  an  ele- 
ment and  power  of  day,  on  all  who  are  blessed  in  tho 
sisht.  When  Christ  was  transfigured  in  the  mount, 
the  shining  as  the  sun,  the  glistering  whiteness,  which 
are  called  "the  excellent  glor}^,"  were  yet  but  a  surface 
glory  in  themselves,  and  were  only  good  as  types 
of  that  inherent,  practical  glory,  that  belonged  to  his 
nature,  and  was  just  now  dawning  on  discovery  in  his 
suffering  sacrifice.  The  immense  power  he  gets  in 
being  made  perfect  through  sufferings,  is  itself  his 
glory.  And  so  the  state  of  glory  in  us  is  the  solid 
power  that  we  are  to  obtain,  by  following  in  our  Mas- 
ter's steps,  by  suffering  patience  and  sacrifice.  When 
Christ  says,  "the  glory  which  thou  gavest  me  I  have 
given  them,"  that  glory  is  the  sense  we  have  in  them, 
as  God's  martyrs  and  servants,  of  a  somehow  divine 
brightness  and  transforming  luster.  There  is  some- 
thing felt  which  yet  w^e  do  not  see,  and  we  call  that 
invisible  something,  glory.  It  is  splendor  of  soul,  or 
the  halo  that  is  on  it,  when  the  blur  and  disorder  and 
opaque  mixture  of  wrong  are  all  gone  by  ;  or  it  is  the 
state  of  perfect  strength,  concord,  liberty  in  good,  free- 
ness  of  knowledge,  purposes  eternally  set,  great  sentiment 
hallowed  hy  great  principle,  and  uttered  by  and  through 
great  action,  when  Christ,  who  is  himself  the  glory  of 

23* 


270  THE    PHYSICAL    HUFFERING,     ETC. 

the  Father,  has  put  himself  full}^  upon  us,  and  when 
so  the  divine  splendor  and  power,  and  truth,  and  right- 
eousness, are  become  our  eternal  investiture.  And 
therefore  it  is,  that  the  very  state  of  glory  for  which  we 
nope  is  set  forth  as  a  daylight  element  bathing  h^)\y 
minds  forever ;  whose  sun  is  the  Eevelation  of  God  by 
suffering — "For  the  Glory  of  God  doth  lighten  it  and 
the  Lamb  is  the  light  thereof."  O,  thou  divine  Lamb ; 
suffering  symbol  in  the  flesh,  of  God's  suffering  love 
in  the  spirit,  what  shall  be  the  light  of  our  seeing 
forever,  but  that  which  may  shine  out  from  thee! 


XIII. 

SALVATION   BY  MAN, 


For  since  by  man  came  death,  hy  man  came  also  the 
resurrection    of  the    dead, — i.  CoR.  xv.  21. 

It  can  not,  of  course,  be  the  apostle's  meaning,  that 
mankind  are  going  literally  to  raise  themselves  from 
the  dead.  When  he  says  "  by  man,"  he  mentally  refers 
to  Christ ;  only  taking  advantage  of  the  fa,ct  that,  since 
Christ  the  Son  of  God  incarnate,  is  become  a  proper 
man,  a  member  of  the  race,  it  is  therefore  permitted  ns 
to  regard  the  whole  remedy  of  sin,  or  power  of  salva- 
tion, as  being  included  in  humanity  itself.  Eedemp- 
tion,  life,  resurrection — all  are,  in  a  sense,  being  and  to 
be,  by  man.  When  we  say  humanity,  there  is  inclosed 
and,  as  it  were,  closeted  in  it,  all  the  inspiration,  all  the 
light,  all  the  life-impulse  of  the  divine  man,  and  so  all 
the  supernatural,  resurgent  powers  of  a  complete  salva- 
tion, even  up  to  the  resurrection  force  itself.  It  is  not 
as  if  God  had  called  us  here  from  a  distance,  or  had 
sent  his  Son  to  sit  upon  the  circle  of  the  heavens  and 
lecture  us  from    those    supernal   heights,  but  he  haa 


272  SALVATION   BY    MAN. 

gotten  him  into  the  race  by  a  birth,  and  lias  entered,  in 
that  manner,  a  corporate  grace  of  life  into  the  race 
itself. 

What  I  propose  then  at  the  present  time,  is  the  prac- 
tically important  fact  that  Christ  is  in  no  sense  to  be 
thonglit  of  as  a  being  external,  or  dispensing  salvation 
from  above,  but  as  a  second  Adam  in  the  race  itself, 
a  regenerative  and  redemptive  power,  so  inserted  into 
humanity  as  to  be,  in  a  sense,  of  it.  Just  as  the  apos- 
tle's language  intimates — "  For  since  by  man  came 
death,  by  man  came  also  the  resurrection  of  the 
dead."  For  this  word  '^  since  ^^  is  a  word  of  rational 
connection,  supposing  an  impression  felt  of  some  inhe- 
rent litness,  requiring  the  corporate  disadvantage  of  the 
fall,  to  be  made  good  by  a  corporate  remedy.  Consider 
then — 

1.  The  antecedent  probability  of  such  a  remedy,  indi- 
cated by  familiar  analogies.  It  is  not  God's  manner  to 
work  all  remedies  in  things  from  without,  but  to  make 
them  largely  self-remedial,  when  attacked  by  damage, 
or  disorder.  Thus  all  creatures  of  life,  all  substances 
above  the  range  of  mineral  substance,  are  endowed  by 
him  with  recuperative  functions  for  the  repair  of  their 
own  injuries.  The  bush  that  is  bent  to  the  ground 
does  not  rei^uire  some  other  bush  or  even  tree,  to  come 
and  lift  it  up,  but,  no  sooner  is  it  let  go,  than  it  springs 
up  suddenly  by  an  elastic  force  within.  Cut  it  down, 
as  it  begins  to  be  a  tree,  and  it  will  set  new  growths  to 
pricking  through  the  hard  bark  even  of  its  stump,  and 
BO,  by  a  newly  begun  architecture  it  will  go  on  to  build 


SALVATION    BY    MAN.  273 

the  tree  it  was  beginning  to  build  at  the  first.  Every  an- 
imal body  has  a  distinct  self-medicating  force  in  its  own 
vital  nature,  called  by  physicians  and  physiologists  the 
vis  viedicatrix.  When,  therefore,  it  is  attacked  by  dis- 
ease, or  hacked  by  violence,  the  qualified  physician, 
knowing  how  it  will  rally  its  own  hidden  force,  and  put 
its  own  mysterious  self- medications  at  work,  will  sim- 
ply endeavor,  on  his  part,  to  clear  the  way,  and  supply 
the  needed  stimulus  of  action,  till  the  subtle,  inborn 
physician,  wiser  and  more  sovereign  than  he,  has 
mended  the  break,  or  completed  the  cure.  The  same 
is  true  as  regards  all  defections  of  honor  or  character. 
If  the  man  himself  does  not  return  to  himself,  and  re- 
pair his  losses  by  a  process  of  recovery  undertaken  by 
himself,  there  is  no  recovery  for  him.  The  whole  world 
toiling  at  his  vices  and  dishonors,  could  not  repair  one 
of  them.  He  alone  has  power  to  win  the  first  inch  of 
recovery.  On  a  larger  scale  the  same  is  true  of  society. 
Broken  down  by  oppression,  desolated  b}^  conquest, 
rent  by  faction,  weakened  by  every  sort  of  incapacity, 
it  finally  gets  clear  and  rises,  by  reactions  from  within 
itself — just  as  Italy  is  rising  now.  The  national  resur- 
rection comes  by  man — man,  that  is,  grown  manlier,  as 
.God  prepared  him  to  be,  by  his  own  great  struggles  of 
devotion. 

We  see,  in  this  manner,  on  how  large  a  scale  God 
contrives  to  incorporate  powers  of  self-recovery  in 
things.  What  then  shall  we  expect,  when  humanity  is 
broken  by  the  irruption,  or  precipitation  of  sin,  but 
that  if  he  organizes  redemption,  he  will  do  it  in  a  way 


27'i  SALVATION    BY    MAN. 

to  have  it  appear  as  a  redemption  from  within,  executed 
in  a  sense  by  man. 

I  do  not  mean,  of  course,  when  I  speak  in  this  man- 
ner  of  •' self-recover j,"  and  "salvation  by  man,"  that 
the  recovery  and  salvation  are  not  by  God.  There  ia 
exactly  the  same  propriety  in  this  kind  of  language 
that  there  is  in  speaking  of  a  harvest,  or  a  voyage,  as 
being  by  man — it  is  never  such  in  the  sense  of  exclud- 
ing God  and  his  natural  agencies.  Indeed  the  recov- 
ery and  salvation  of  souls  are  more  properly  by  man, 
because  the  agency  of  God  is  here  incarnated  and  works 
in  the  race  by  a  man  thus  inserted  into  it. 

2.  It  is  another  point  to  be  observed,  that  we  not 
only  want  a  supernatural  salvation  (for  nothing  less 
than  that  can  possibly  regenerate  the  fall  of  nature;) 
but  in  order  to  any  steady  faith  in  it,  we  must  have  it 
wrought  into  nature  and  made  to  be  as  it  were,  one  of 
its  own  stock  powers.  It  does  not  meet  our  intellectual 
conditions,  till  it  satisfies,  in  a  degree,  the  scientific 
instinct  in  us,  and  becomes  rational  and  solid,  by  appear- 
ing to  work  inherently,  or  from  within,  as  by  a  certain 
force  of  law.  Moving  on  the  soul  and  society,  as  from 
a  point  above  and  without,  it  would  be  here,  and  there, 
and  nowhere,  flitting  as  it  were  apparitionally,  breaking 
out  now  as  from  behind  the  moon,  and  vanishing  next,  as 
our  faith  reels  away,  in  we  know  not  what  spaces  of  the 
air,  or  abysses  of  the  sea.  What  we  want  can  be  seen,  at  a 
glance,  from  the  eagerness  that  hurries  such  multitudes 
of  our  time  after  the  doctrine  of  progress.  "We  love  to 
look  on  education,  political  liberty,  personal  culture, 


SALVATION    BY    MAN 


275 


and  the  sway  of  moral  ideas,  all  as  advancing  under 
jixed  laws  of  progress.  This  doctrine  of  progress  is 
even  a  better  kind  of  gospel  to  many,  and  more  ra- 
tional.  And  yet  if  we  speak  of  a  strictly  natural  pro- 
gress, under  natural  laws,  there  is  no  fiction  more 
utterly  baseless:  for  after  the  fact  of  sin,  or  moral  evil 
broken  loose  in  the  race,  the  progress  of  society  must 
be  inevitably  downward  from  bad  to  worse.  Just  that 
too  which  ought  to  be  true  is  true,  many  of  the  proud- 
est, most  historic  races  drop  into  extinction ;  and  many 
others  exist  that  we  call  savage  races,  just  because  they 
make  no  such  progress,  more  than  the  animals,  from 

age  to  age. 

And  yet  we  want  a  salvation  that  is  to  us  all  which 
this  doctrine  of  progress  pretends  to  be,  and  God  defers 
to  our  want,  by  contriving  a  gospel  for  man  that  is  to 
be,  in  form,  by  man;  giving  us  to  see  the  general  hu- 
manity  so  penetrated  and  charged  with  the  supernatural, 
by  Christ  living  in  it,  as  to  be,  in  a  sense,  working  out 
redemption  naturally  from  within  itself.     We  call  it 
the  progress  of  society,  and  such  it  really  is,  and  yet, 
solid  and  scientific  as  we  think  it,  all  the  reality  it  has 
comes  of  the  incorporated,  incarnated  grace,  in  Jesus 
Christ,  which  is  countervailing  always  the  penal  disor- 
ders of  nature,  and  setting  continually  on,  as  by  a  des- 
tiny itself,  the  rising  fortunes  of  the  race.     Our  gospel 
is  a  cause,  in  this  manner,  among  causes;  a  real  calcu- 
lable  force,  the  confidence  of  which  can  be  held  with  a 
steady  assurance.     Is  any  thing  more  rational  than  tq 
believe  that  goodness  and  truth  are  bound  to  master  all 


276  SALVATION    BY    MAN, 

things  bj  their  own  everlasting  necessary  laws  ?  No 
matter  from  what  sphere  they  come,  natural  or  super- 
natural,  getting  into  man,  into  the  race,  they  will  as 
certainly  master  man  at  last,  master  the  race,  as  gravity 
will  master  a  stone.  Exactly  this  confidence  God  there- 
fore means  to  give  us — no  visionary  confidence  but  [i 
rational,  that  of  a  banker  whose  fund  is  in ;  for  God 
has  put  the  stock  functions  of  his  own  everlasting  king- 
dom into  humanity  itself,  and  by  man  He  must  reign. 
Meantime — 

3.  We  shall  see  that,  if  it  were  possible  to  restore  the 
fall  of  our  race,  by  any  kind  of  agency,  or  operation, 
wholly  external,  supposing  no  recuperative  forces  and 
concurrent  struggles  operating  from  within,  it  would 
reduce  our  character  and  grade  of  significance  to  a  vir- 
tual nullity.  Dismiss  the  grand  world-honoring  fact  of 
the  incarnation,  conceive  that  the  Jehovah  angel,  or 
some  angelic  messenger  comes  to  us,  not  humanized  in 
sympathy  or  in  order,  but  having  a  plastic  power  to 
work  on  us  from  without  and  sway  us  to  good,  by  his 
own  methods  of  divine  magic,  apart  from  our  consent ; 
this  would  settle  us,  at  once,  into  a  state  of  cliency  both 
dangerous  and  humiliating.  We  should  probably 
begin,  at  once,  to  pay  him  the  honors  of  idolatry ;  for 
the  manly  consciousness  in  us  will  be  taken  away,  and 
w^e  shall  be  to  ourselves  a  kind  of  second-rate  interest 
in  God's  kingdom ;  just  that  which  the  incarnation,  be- 
getting a  new  divine  power  in  the  race  itself,  contrives 
to  avoid  with  a  skill  so  beautiful. 

Or  w^e  may  suppose  that  God  was  able  tc   put  the 


SALVATION    BY     MAN.  2ii 

physical  world  into  sucli  a  state  of  divine  glow,  show- 
ing forth,  in  its  objects,  such  radiances  and  miraculous 
revolvings,  such  glorious  apparitions  of  truth,  such 
faces  of  goodness,  that  men  should  have  their  bad 
will  quite  taken  away  by  the  magical  sceneries 
thoy  live  in.  But  the  transformation  they  undergo 
in  this  manner  would  have  little  dignity  in  it,  because 
their  manhood  is  unexercised  in  the  change.  It 
would  be  a  kind  of  vegetable  conversion,  not  a 
kindling  of  God's  fires  in  the  soul's  aspirations  and 
choices. 

So,  if  the  race  were  to  be  recovered  in  any  way  that 
includes  no  struggle  of  self-recovery,  no  power  within 
striving  toward  recovery,  it  would  almost  take  away 
the  sense  of  our  personality.  We  should  be  ciphers  to 
ourselves,  not  men.  Exactly  contrary  to  this,  it  is  the 
very  great  merit  of  the  incarnation,  that  it  brings 
help  in  a  way  to  make  it  valuable.  God  could  easily 
help  us  in  a  way  to  crush  us,  just  as  many  human 
helpers  will  really  make  nothing  of  their  benefi- 
ciaries, by  allowing  them  to  make  nothing  of  them- 
selves, and  be  nothing  for  themselves.  The  very  thing 
wanted  here  is  to  get  power  into  the  fallen  race,  and  put 
it  striving  upward;  to  raise  a  ferment  of  recuperative 
energy,  feeling,  aspiration,  choice,  and  whole  right 
working  in  humanity ;  exactly  what  the  nearness  and 
high  sj^mpathy  of  God  in  the  incarnation  must  inevita- 
bly do.  The  Saviour  being,  or  becoming  man,  the  sal- 
vation dignifies  and  raises  man  even  before  he  receives 
it;  giving  him  the  right  to  feel,  that,  coming  veril}'  a^- 

24 


278  SALVATION    BY    MAN. 

an  approacli  of  God,  it  is  none  the  less  a  power  in  the 
race  itself,  a  salvation  by  man. 

4.  Since  it  is  continually  assumed  by  the  scripture 
that  we  fall  by  race,  or  as  a  corporate  whole,  we  natu- 
rally look  for  some  recuperative  grace  to  be  entered 
into  the  race,  by  which  so  great  disadvantage  may  be 
repaid  or  overcome.  Thus,  if  we  say  "as  in  Adam 
all  die,"  we  want  also  to  say,  "  so  in  Christ  shall  all  be 
made  alive."  Or  if  we  sa}^  that  "  through  the  offense  of 
one  many  be  dead,"  we  want  also  to  say,  "  much  more 
the  grace  of -God,  and  the  gift  by  grace,  which  is  by  one 
man,  JeSus  Christ,  hath  abounded  unto  many."  In 
this  manner  it  is  that  Christ  is  conceived  to  be  a 
"second  Adam,"  a  kind  of  new  progenitor,  such 
that  we  get  in  him,  as  it  were,  a  new  descent  from 
good. 

But  we  are  born  of  Adam  physiologically,  it  will  be 
remembered,  and  so  we  go  down  with  him  as  a  race 
by  physiological  consequence,  while  we  are  not  thus 
born  of  Christ  the  second  Adam.  He  only  comes  into 
the  race  at  a  given  point,  just  as  we  do,  and  communi- 
cates nothing  by  descent  to  persons  collateral,  any  more 
than  we  do  to  persons  collateral  to  us.  How  then, 
being  no  progenitor,  does  he  become  any  proper  Adam 
at  all  ?  how  get  himself  into  the  race,  in  any  such  gen- 
eral way,  as  to  become  a  new  headship  of  life  ? 

To  this  I  answer,  that  we  must  not  press  the  corres- 
pondence too  closely ;  it  is  not  understood  to  be  literal, 
or  to  hold  in  any  but  a  general  and  qualified  way.  Let 
it  be  enough  that  as  the  sin  abounded,  so  the  grace 


SALVATION    BY    MAN.  279 

mucli  more  abounds,  onlj  not  in  exactly  the  same  man- 
ner. Adam  is  our  head  physiologically,  Christ  is  our 
head  by  the  head -influences  he  inaugurates,  by  the  au- 
thority, sympathy,  beauty,  of  his  suffering  goodness — 
a  power  that  propagates  across  all  the  lines  of  genera- 
tion, as  efficiently  as  if  it  traveled  by  descent — a  new 
regenerative  power  incarnated  into  the  race  as  such, 
there  to  work,  running  down  through  all  descent,  as  a 
redemption  of  man  executed  in  the  large  view  by 
man. 

Observe  too  this  very  striking  distinction,  that  good 
souls  have  a  power  to  get  into  the  race  by  collate- 
ral propagations  of  their  goodness,  when  bad  souls  have 
almost  no  such  power  at  all.  The  bad  impregnate 
human  feeling  through  falsities,  and  lies,  and  oppres- 
sions, and  combinations  of  interest,  or  at  best  through 
the  dazzling  exploits  of  ambition.  But  there  is  a  short 
run  to  such  kind  of  power.  Deep  in  evil,  the  world  is 
yet  naturally  shy  of  evil,  and  begins  very  soon  to  get 
away  from  it.  No  bad  character  propagates  long,  as  by 
character.  Even  bad  writings  drop  out  soon  and  die, 
as  it  were,  of  their  own  poison.  On  the  other  hand  it 
will  be  seen  that  good  and  great  souls  have  a  destiny 
of  headship,  propagating  side-ways,  and  every  way,  till 
they  become  Adams  in  the  sublime  fatherhood  of  their 
power,  and  that  so  completely  as  to  finally  reach  and 
take  headship  of  the  race.  Thus  we  think  of  Socrates, 
for  example,  as  a  kind  of  progenitor  in  good  for  his 
people ;  a  man  whose  ideas,  principles,  sacrifices,  entered 
him  into  the  whole  Greek   race,  and   more  and  more 


280  SALVATION    BY    MAN. 

widely  into  the  general  life  of  the  world.  So  of  Wash- 
ington. Dying  childless,  he  had  yet  many  children, 
and  his  large  posterity  still  multiplies  more  and  mora 
rapidly,  in  every  part  of  the  world.  Aaron  Burr  waa 
a  man  of  greater  splendor,  but  he  never  got  into  the 
world's  life  and  feeling  at  all,  and  never  became  pro- 
genitor of  any  thing.  He  was  dropped  instinctively 
even  out  of  the  world's  thought.  But  Washington 
goes  on  to  be,  not  father  of  his  country  only,  but 
world's  father  also;  inserting  his  grand  fatherhood  into 
kings,  emperors,  peoples,  and  laws,  accepted  more  and 
more  reverently,  by  the  compulsion  of  good  in  his  life, 
and  reigning,  in  fact,  as  a  kind  of  civil-state  Messiah, 
that  has  come  to  propagate  his  sway  in  human  laws  and 
Hberties.  The  civil  capacity  even  of  the  world,  is 
increased  by  the  august  propagations  of  his  example 
and  sentiment. 

And  so  it  is,  illustrating  the  great  by  the  small,  the 
divine  by  the  human,  that  Jesus,  the  incarnate  word  of 
G-od's  eternity,  coming  into  birth  and  living  and  dying 
as  a  man,  fills  the  whole  race  with  new  possibilities  and 
powers,  starts  resurgent  activities,  overtops  the  sin 
abounding,  with  a  grace  that  much  more  abounds,  and 
becomes  the  Adam,  so  to  speak,  of  a  new  humanity. 
Consider  now — 

5.  Some  of  the  scripture  evidences  of  the  subject 
And  here  we  meet,  first  of  all,  as  it  were  at  the  head  of 
all  scripture,  the  remarkable  and  rather  strangely 
worded  promise,  which  declares  that  the  seed  of  the 
woman  shall  bruise  the  serpent's  head.     The  represent* 


SALVATION    BY    MAN.  281 

ation  is  not  that  Christ,  sometime  hereafter  to  be  borD 
of  the  woman,  shall  bring  under  and  finally  destroy  the 
bad  power,  though  that  is  true,  but  that  the  woman's 
whole  posterity,  having  Christ  included,  shall  do  it. 
God  will  of  course  be  always  present  in  the  struggle, 
pushing  it  on,  and  turning  all  the  crises  of  it,  by  his  in- 
visible agency;  while  outwardly,  to  human  apprehen- 
sion, it  is  but  a  struggle,  in  one  view,  of  society  and 
man.  In  this  manner,  he  contrives,  by  the  hiding  of 
himself,  in  our  otherwise  poor,  dejected  humanity,  to 
put  us  in  confidence  and  keep  us  at  a  pitch  of  courage, 
quite  above  our  own  broken  powers. 

Here  and  there,  it  is  true,  this  interior  hidden  method 
is  departed  from,  and  he  appears  to  be  operating  from 
without,  doing  something  for,  or  upon,  our  humanity, 
and  not  through  it ;  working  some  astounding  miracle, 
sending  some  angel,  or  appearing  by  some  angelic  the- 
ophany.  In  one  case  he  even  ordains  a  supernatural 
sign  that  is  to  be  a  kind  of  institution,  recurring,  like 
the  sun  itself,  with  astronomic  regularity ;  the  cloud,  I 
mean,  by  day  and  the  pillar  of  fire  by  night.  And  yet 
none  of  these  extraordinary,  external  things,  appear  to 
get  much  hold  of  the  race,  just  because  they  do  not 
get  into  it.  Nothing  works  like  a  power  that  does  not 
work  by  man.  The  sacrifice  of  Abraham  and  the 
wrestling  of  Jacob  bring  more  victory  and  might  into 
<^he  race,  as  far  as  we  can  see,  than  the  brazen  serpent, 
or  the  waters  drawn  out  of  the  rock.  When,  too.  Christ 
comes,  what  is  he  but  a  man?  and  though,  as  such,  he 
has  a  divine  power  and  plenitude,  how  careful  is  he  tc 

24* 


282  SALVATION    BY    MAN. 

get  bis  attitude  in  tlie  race  and  not  above  it.  He  un- 
dertakes no  outward  championsliip.  Seed  of  the  wo- 
man, a  proper  man,  lie  only  gets  into  the  common 
family  register  as  such,  and  puts  the  struggle  on,  as 
])eing  a  struggle  of  the  race  itself.  Perfect  in  all  divin- 
ity even,  he  is  still  the  Son  of  Man,  claiming  the  appel- 
lation for  himself  He  dies  low.  And  when  he  is 
gone,  all  that  we  know  is  that  a  gospel  is  born !  In 
one  view  there  seems  to  be  nothing  here  but  the  same 
humanity  there  was  before,  and  the  same  hard  fight  still 
going  on  that  before  was  struggling  to  bring  the  serpent 
under  and  to  bruise  his  head.  But  it  is  a  very  different 
fight,  as  respects  the  power  of  it ;  for  there  is  a  Christ 
now  in  the  race,  and  the  whole  seed  of  man  is  quick- 
ened by  the  sense  of  his  divine  brotherhood. 

We  shall  find,  accordingly,  that  the  scriptures  are 
full  of  images,  that  conceive  the  great  contest  with  evil 
to  be  a  struggle  in  the  bosom  of  the  race  itself^  and 
give  us  the  expectation  that  it  will  go  on,  as  such,  till 
it  has  won  a  complete  triumph  for  the  truth.  Thus  it 
is  that  Isaiah  uses  the  word  "increase,"  which  does  not 
mean  to  enlarge  by  additions,  but  by  internal  growth ; 
— "And  of  the  increase  of  his  government  and  peace 
there  shall  be  no  end."  Thus  it  is  that  Daniel  repre- 
sents the  kingdom  of  the  Messiah  as  "  a  stone  cut  out 
without  hands,"  but  a  most  remarkable  kind  of  stone 
in  the  fact  that  it  grows  from  within  itself,  and  becomes 
a  great  mountain  filling  the  whole  earth.  In  the  same 
way  it  is  compared,  by  Christ  himself,  to  a  grain  of 
mustard  seed,  which  does  not  grow  by  something  added 


SALVATION    BY    MAN.  283 

on  the  outside,  but  by  an  internal  operation,  becoming 
in  that  manner  a  tree.  He  compares  it  also  to  leaven 
bid  in  a  large  quantity  of  meal,  there  to  work  till  all  ia 
leaAened;  where  the  working,  it  will  be  observed,  ia 
not  the  working  only  of  the  original  leaven,  or  that  of 
the  atmosphere  outside,  but  such  a  kind  as  puts  the 
meal  next  the  leaven  working  too,  and  that  also  on 
doing  the  same  to  what  is  next  to  it ;  and  so  the  propa- 
gated working  goes  on,  till  the  whole  body  of  the  bread 
is  leavened. 

Here  Christ  is  giving,  you  will  see,  his  deliberate 
opinion  Df  the  manner  in  which  his  kingdom  will  be 
extended.  The  process  will  be  forwarded,  he  conceives, 
within  the  race  itself,  and  will  so  far  be  human,  that  we 
may  rightly  say  of  it — for  since  by  man  came  the  fall 
of  the  world,  by  man  came  also  its  restored  glory  and 
peace. 

Observe,  again,  how  even  holy  scripture  is  the  scrip- 
ture also  of  man,  written  by  man,  given  to  the  world 
by  man,  bearing,  in  every  book,  the  particular  stamp 
and  style  of  the  particular  mind,  in  whose  personal  con- 
ceptions it  was  shaped.  The  subject  matter  too  of  the 
historic  and  biographic  parts  is  human,  showing  how 
men  have  acted,  thought,  felt,  suffered  for  the  truth, 
fallen  before  temptation,  triumphed  over  it.  Indeed 
the  value  itself  of  these  records  consists,  to  a  grea 
extent,  in  the  fact  that  they  give  us  divine  lessons  under 
human  incidents,  in  the  molds  of  human  character  and 
life.  They  show  us  too,  on  a  larger  scale,  what  is  the 
meaning  and  way  of  God's  Providence,  bv  the  disasters 


284  SALVATION    BY    MAN. 

of  wrong  and  the  struggles  of  merit,  and  also  by  the 
overturnings  and  uprisings  of  nations. 

When  we  come  to  the  writings  of  devotion,  the 
Psalms,  for  examjDle,  and  other  chorals  of  scripture, 
these  are  human  sentiments,  lifted  indeed  by  holy  in- 
spirations, but  none  the  less  properly  human  for  that 
reason — rolling  in  as  such  upon  us,  from  the  word, 
even  as  the  tides  roll  in  from  the  sea. 
•  The  proverbs  are  specially  human,  being  maxims  of 
human  wisdom,  such  as  have  even  gained  a  proverbial 
currency,  in  the  judgments  of  philosophy  and  states- 
manship and  common  life. 

The  prophets,  again — these  are  all  men  speaking  by 
men's  words  and  voices.  True  their  voices  are  voices 
also  of  God,  but  they  are  none  the  less  human,  that  God 
wants  to  use  them  as  such,  or  that  he  sometimes  puts 
them  to  speaking  in  the  first  person  for  him,  saying  "  I 
the  Lord ;"  for  when  he  crowds  himself  thus  into  men, 
or  men's  voices,  he  only  proves  how  much  he  may 
prefer  to  do  as  man. 

The  same  is  true  of  the  Epistles.  They  are  written 
by  men,  to  men,  in  the  words  of  men,  under  the  rela- 
tionships of  teacher  and  taught,  and  shepherd  and  flock. 
They  deal  with  actual  human  conduct,  in  actual  human 
conditions.  They  speak  to  human  difficulties  and 
human  dangers.  They  show  how  good  men  suffer  in 
times  of  persecution,  how  they  bruise  Satan  under  their 
feet,  how  fidelity  triumphs ;  in  a  word  how  Ihe  great 
lilb-struggle  of  the  church  goes  on. 

A  corresponding  reason  doubtless  required  the  gospel 


SALVATION    BY    MAN.  285 

of  Christ  to  be  preached  b}^  human  ministers.  It  is  not 
commonly  expected  that  thieves  will  be  sent  to  I'eform 
thieves,  or  perjurers  to  remonstrate  with  perjur}^,  but 
sir.ners  are  sent  to  gospel  sinners.  God  certainly  could 
hitve  taken  a  different  method.  He  could  have  sent 
cohorts  of  angels  flying  through  the  air,  to  publish  the 
good  news,  even  as  they  began  to  do,  for  an  hour,  when 
Christ  was  born.  He  could  have  set  the  stars  chiming 
with  the  silver  music  of  salvation.  He  could  have 
made  the  stones  cry  it  out  of  the  mountain  tops,  and 
under  the  ground,  and  under  the  sea.  But  he  wants 
the  great  work  of  the  redemption  to  go  on  from  within 
the  race  itself,  unfolding  by  internal  growth,  intending 
that  his  kingdom  shall  be  great  and  finally  universal, 
only  because  the  powers  or  principles  he  has  inserted 
are  sufficient  of  themselves  to  make  it  so. 

He  also  constructs  a  corporate  state,  called  the 
church,  in  which,  as  being  corporate,  and  not  subject  to 
death,  he  deposits  the  gospel  and  the  sacraments,  and 
all  the  institutional  appointments  of  religion,  thus  to  be 
conserved  and  perpetuated  by  man. 

In  the  same  way  too,  he  makes  the  church  even  to  be 
the  pillar  and  ground  of  the  truth  itself;  for  the  disci- 
ples in  it  are  to  be  Christ's  living  epistles,  gospels  of  the 
life,  new  incarnations  of  the  word,  showing  always  what 
is  in  the  text,  by  wdiat  is  expressed  in  their  life  and 
walk  and  character.  Were  it  not  for  this  light  contin- 
ually supplied  to  the  written  gospel,  from  the  lives  of 
those  who  live  it,  the  word  of  the  skies  would  shortly 
become  an  utterly  dead  language,  a  kind  of  Sanscrit 


286  SALVATION    BY    MAN. 

jargon,  without  either  salvation  or  intelligence  in  it 
Living  men  are  its  interpretation,  living  men  are  its  ar- 
guments and  evidences.     It  lives  bj  man. 

As  the  disciples  are  to  be  new  incarnations,  in  this 
manner,  of  Christ,  so,  in  a  sense,  they  are  to  be  vehiclea 
also  of  the  Spirit,  demonstrations,  revelations,  of  hia 
otherwise  unseen  or  unobserved  agency ;  and  so,  many 
of  his  most  effective  operations  will  be  through  their 
gifts,  works,  prayers,  sufferings,  personal  testimonies, 
and  the  pentecostal  glow  of  their  assemblies. 

Again,  last  of  all,  and  as  it  were  to  include  all,  it  is 
given  to  men  even  to  convert  the  world.  Not  that 
they,  as  being  simply  men,  are  able  to  do  any  sach 
thing,  but  that  Christ,  the  Son  of  Man,  being  entered 
into  the  race,  and  working  as  a  leaven  in  the  mass  of 
it,  will  make  them  a  leaven  also  to  one  another,  and  set 
the  ferment  on  till  all  is  leavened.  And  so  the  great 
world  itself,  all  the  empires,  known  or  unknown,  all  the 
continents,  and  islands  undiscovered,  all  most  distant 
ages  and  times  are  given  as  a  trust  to  men,  originally 
to  a  very  few,  very  humble  men.  "  Ye,"  said  Christ, 
"are  the  light  of  the  world."  "Go  ye  into  all  the 
world  and  disciple  every  creature." 

I  will  not  detain  you  with  farther  illustrations  of  the 
subject  in  hand,  but  will  simply  suggest  in  conclusion, 
a  few  points  variously  related,  in  the  practical  drift  of 
its  applications. 

We  have  then  a  very  significant  presumption  raised, 
that  when  any  breakage,  or  damage,  occurs  in  any  le- 


SALVATION    BY    MAN.  287 

gitimate  institution,  or  society  of  the  world,  God  has 
prepared,  or  put  in  somewhere,  some  kind  of  self- 
remedial  force  to  mend  it.  Thus  if  any  church,  or 
Christian  brotherhood,  is  rent  by  disagreements,  embit- 
tered by  recriminations,  and  broken,  for  the  time,  aa 
regards  a  due  confidence  of  the  future,  the  remedy  must 
still  be  in  it,  else  it  is  nowhere.  Even  if  God  himself 
undertakes  for  it,  he  will  accomplish  his  restoring  pur- 
pose, in  some  very  important  sense,  only  by  man,  even 
by  themselves;  that  is  by  their  strivings  after  one 
another,  their  sorrowings  over  themselves,  their  prayers 
and  their  longings  after  the  lost  love.  If  there  be  any 
remedy  for  them,  it  must  so  far  come  out  of  themselves. 
Not  even  God  will  try  to  bring  it  from  any  other 
quarter. 

So  if  there  be  a  great  nation  rent  by  faction,  a  good 
government  broken  down  and  trampled  by  rebellion, 
God  has  no  miraculous  fire  to  flash  upon  the  conspira- 
tors and  scorch  them  down.  It  must  be  enough  that 
he  has  given  a  sword  for  the  punishment  of  evil-doers, 
that  the  remedy  may  come  by  man,  making  due  use  of 
it.  If  the  people  too  will  know  that  God  is  with  them, 
let  a  spirit  be  kindled  in  their  manly  breast  that  shall 
take  them  to  the  field,  forbidding  any  word  of  peace  to 
be  spoken,  till  the  laws  are  vindicated  and  the  foes  of 
order  crushed.  If  God  will  make  a  broken  world 
restore  itself  by  man,  much  more  a  broken  people,  and 
it  will  as  certainly  be  done  as  there  is  quantity  enoagh 
of  manhood  in  them— enough  great  sentiment  and  pa- 
triotic fire — to  do  it. 


288  SALVATION    BY    MAN. 

Again,  the  immense  responsibility  thrown  upcn 
Christ's  followers,  in  the  fact  that  the  salvation  of  the 
world  is  to  be  in  so  many  ways  by  man,  ought  to  be 
distinctly  admitted  and  practically  assumed.  If  they 
are  to  preach  the  gospel,  and  light  iip  the  gospel  by 
their  lives,  so  to  be  the  gospel,  and  finally  to  regain  the 
world  to  God ;  if  Christ  himself  lays  it  on  them  to  be 
gospelers  with  him,  putting  the  world  in  their  hands 
to  be  lived  for,  died  for,  won  and  saved,  then  how  clear 
it  is  that  their  faith  will  be  no  relaxation  of  responsi- 
bility, but  the  begun  fulfillment  and  seal  of  it  rather. 
How  nearly  appalling  too  is  the  fact  that  if  God  has 
any  good  thing  to  be  done,  it  is  to  be  done  somehow  by 
man,  and  that  he  has  the  man,  or  men,  or  women, 
somewhere,  on  whom  so  great  a  charge  is  laid.  As  he 
has  undertaken  to  make  man  good,  he  will  let  the  good 
that  wants  to  be  done,  wait  till  their  goodness  gets  pur- 
pose, and  fire,  and  sacrifice,  in  a  word,  reality,  enough 
to  do  it.  And  if  they  make  slow  progress,  if  the  con- 
version of  the  world  drags  heavily,  then  so  it  must ;  for 
God  will  not  so  far  dishonor  the  great  salvation  as  to 
push  on  the  propagation  of  it  faster  than  it  has  reality 
enough  to  propagate  itself.  If  it  takes  a  million  of 
years  to  recover  the  world  to  God,  then  a  million  it 
must  have ;  for  it  never  can  be  accomplished,  either  in 
one,  or  in  a  hundred  millions,  unless  it  is  accomplished 
by  man.  O,  how  preposterous,  in  this  view,  is  the  soft 
opinion  many  hold  of  faith ;  as  if  it  were  the  faith  of  a 
Boldier  to  expect  that  his  captain  will  do  all  the  fighting 
himself,  and  that  he  is  never  to  fight  under  hin-.,  or  win 


SALVATION    BY    MAN.  289 

with  him  ;  or  as  if  it  were  the  true  believing  unto  life, 
to  come  in,  as  clinical  patients,  and  lie  down  upon  the 
gospel  to  be  saved  by  it!  No !  the  salvation  of  God  is 
no  such  washy  and  thin  affair — it  has  meaning,  it  has 
dignity ;  else  it  has  no  mark  of  God  upon  it.  To  really 
believe  is  to  come  into  the  great  life-struggle  of  Jesus 
and  be  with  him  in  it;  to  be  engineering  for  him, 
watching  for  occasions  to  commend  him,  watching  for 
souls  to  receive  him,  fighting  for  him  in  sacrifice,  even 
as  heroes  fight  for  their  country.  The  salvation  of  the 
"world  by  man — that  is  the  tremendous  fact  which  all 
true  faith  takes  hold  of,  and  for  which  it  is  girded  even 
by  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

There  is,  furthermore,  a  great  mine  of  comfort  opened 
here,  for  such  as  have  settled  into  heart-sickness  over 
human  affairs,  and  the  want  of  all  high  movement  in 
them.  Some  are  sick  because  they  hear  no  thunders, 
and  see  no  mighty  stir  in  the  heavens.  If  they  could 
see  God  converting  the  world  by  signs,  and  wonders^ 
and  mighty  portents,  there  would  seem  to  be  something 
going  on !  Nothing  could  be  weaker  than  such  a  kind 
of  gospeling.  Laying  no  hold  of  us  by  rational  evi 
dence,  it  would  only  drum  us  to  sleep  in  the  tumults 
of  the  senses.  And  yet  they  are  almost  pining  to  have 
the  world's  dull  tedium  broken,  by  some  such  outward 
stir ;  never  once  recollecting  that,  while  commotion  is  a 
profitless  noise,  real  motion  is  silent.  Another  class 
are  pining,  in  the  same  manner,  for  some  new  dispen- 
sation to  break,  that  shall  displace  the  rotten  hopeless- 
ness of  the  old;  some  second  coming  of  Christ,  some 

25 


290  SALVATION    BY    MAN. 

purgation  by  fire,  some  literal  new  heavens.  They 
want  a  Saviour  farther  off  and  not  one  hid  in  the 
world's  bosom,  a  Saviour  in  the  clouds  of  heaven,  or  in 
some  miraculous  new  city, — ^just  the  Saviour  that  would 
take  us  out  of  our  faith  and  put  us  into  our  senses,  and 
set  us  running  to  see,  instead  of  resting  in  love  to  know. 
StiJl  another  class,  who  look  for  no  such  mock  reliefs, 
are  only  the  more  sick,  because  seeing  no  good,  they 
have,  beside,  no  hope  of  any.  There  seems  to  be  no 
good  reason  why  the  world  should  continue,  for  it 
comes  to  nothing,  losing  always  in  one  year,  age,  or 
place,  what  it  gained  in  another — constitutions,  laws, 
liberties,  learning,  commerce,  religion,  all  swinging  tid- 
ally,  and  as  certain  to  go  back  in  the  ebb,  as  to  come  in 
at  the  flow.  Why  should  such  a  hopeless,  always  baf- 
fling, laboring  vanity  be  kept  on  foot?  Why,  my 
friends,  because  it  is  not  hopeless !  because  the  grand, 
all-regenerating  force  is  already  entered  into  the  world, 
and  is  working  steadily  on  through  all  retrocessions  and 
advances  alike.  Lift  up  your  heads  0  ye  drooping 
ones !  Christ  is  in  the  world  !  Jesus,  Son  of  God,  and 
word  of  God's  eternity — he  is  about  us,  within  us,  going 
through  all  things,  moving  onward  in  all.  Leaven 
does  not  make  a  noise  when  it  works,  and  yet  it  works ! 
And  so  the  gospel  works,  the  progress  goes  on,  a  grand, 
mighty  progress,  and  there  is  really  no  retrocession. 
No  river  runs  to  the  sea  more  certainly  or  steadily, 
than  the  great  salvation  by  man  runs  to  conquest  and 
a  kingdom.  No  reason  why  the  world  should  con- 
tinue?    That  is  unbelief.     Do  the  men  who  are  lifted 


SALVATION    BY    MAN.  291 

up  to  such  grand  heights  by  the  progress  of  society 
think  so?  No,  there  is  reason  enough  to  them,  wliy 
the  world  should  continue ;  they  only  steal  our  gospel 
and  millenium,  which,  if  we  reclaim,  we  shall  be  as  iu- 
bilant  as  they,  with  only  so  much  better  right. 

Let  us  also  observe  the  beautiful  delicacy  of  God  in 
his  plan  of  salvation.     He  is  not  willing  to  make  it  a 
salvation /or  man  only,  as  I  have  said  already,  but  con- 
trives to  make  it  also,  as  far  as  possible,  a  salvation  hy 
man.     As  the  seed  of  the  woman  goes  down,  so  he 
contrives  to  get  a  force  into  it  that  will  finally  bruise 
and  trample  its  adversary.     If  he  should  do  every  thing 
simply  as  acting  upon  us,  it  would  make  us  only  un- 
derlings to  eternity,  waste  timber  of  creation,  that  he 
has  only  gathered  and  stored  for  the  dry-rot  of  a  state 
of  impotence,  miscalled  felicity.     No,  he  wants  to  raise 
a  character  in  us,  and,  to  do  this,  requires  a  great  hiding 
of  power.     He  must  contrive  to  put  us  a  doing,  in  all 
that  is  to  be  done,  striving  to  enter  the  straight  gate, 
working  out  our  salvation  with  fear  and  trembling,  as 
only  knowing  by  faith  that  he  is  working  at  all.     And 
then  his  word  of  promise  at  the  end  will  be— "to  him 
that  overcometh."      The  beauty,   the  delicacy,   of  his 
work  is  that  he  gets  the  force  of  it  into  our  own  bosom, 
and  lets  it  work  as  if  it  were  a  part  of  ourselves.    True 
it  is  all  by  Christ,  and  yet  it  is  by  the  Christ  within— 
the  law  of  the  Spirit  of  life  in  Christ  Jesus.     And  so, 
instead  of  making  his  mercy  a  mere  pity  that  kills 
respect,  he  makes  it  a  power  that  lifts  into  character  and 
everlasting  manhood.     He  becomes  a  second  Adam,  a 


292  SALVATION    BY    MAN. 

kind  of  better  parentage  in  tlie  race  itself,  and  we  rise 
bj  a  new  derivation  that  nowise  shames  our  feeling,  or 
sliatters  our  confidence.  How  beautiful  and  tender  the 
method!  and  when  we  conceive,  in  addition,  that  we 
ourselves  are  to  preach,  and  live,  and  illustrate,  and 
perpetuate,  and  spread,  this  gospel,  having  it  as  a  gospel 
to  prevail  by  man,  what  shall  we  feel  eternally,  but  that 
our  very  sorrow  and  shame  are  ennobled  by  the  grace 
we  partake.  And  when  we  shall  go  home  to  be  with 
Christ,  Christ  the  faithful  witness,  and  prince  of  the 
kings  of  the  earth,  what  shall  we  do  but  confess,  in 
lowliest  homage — Unto  him  that  loved  us  and  washed 
us  from  our  sins  in  his  own  blood ;  raising  our  finale 
also  to  sing,  in  the  glorified  majesty  of  our  feeling — And 
hath  made  us  kings  and  priests  unto  God! 


XIV. 

THE  BAD    CONSCIOUSNESS  TAKEN  AWAY. 


**Because  that  the  ivorshipers^  once  purged^  should  have 
had  no  more  conscience  ofsins.^^ — Heb.  x,  2. 

The  reading  is  not,  you  observe,  "conscience  of  no 
more  sins," — as  if  the  sins  were  stopped,  but  "no  more 
conscience  of  sins," — as  if  the  conscience  of  sins  already 
past  were  somehow  extirpated,  or  else  the  sins  taken 
quite  away  from  it  and  forever  extirpated  themselves, 
as  facts,  or  factors  of  the  life.  And  the  allegation  is, 
that  while  the  old  sacrifices  of  the  law  had  power  to 
accomplish  no  such  thing,  it  is  accomplished  by  the 
wonderful,  seemingly  impossible  efficacy  of  the  gospel 
sacrifice.  Those  older  sacrifices  could  not  make  the 
comers  thereunto  perfect — perfect,  that  is,  as  pertaining 
to  the  conscience — and  therefore  they  must  needs  be 
renewed  as  remembrances  of  sin  every  year ;  but  the 
offering  of  the  body  of  Jesus,  once  for  all,  was  suffi- 
cient; allowing  us  forever  after  to  have  no  more  con- 
science of  sins.  Now  it  is  this  practical  wonder,  this 
seeming  impossibility  accomplished  by  the  cross,  to 
which  I  invite  your  attention  on  the  present  occasion. 

25* 


294  THE    BAD    CONSCIOUSNESS 

It  is  what  our  apostle  elsewhere  calls — The  mystery  of 
faith  in  a  pure  conscience. 

I  fell  in  company,  some  years  ago,  with  a  college 
acquaintance — not  a  minister  of  religion,  but  a  remark- 
ably subtle,  closely  scientific  thinker,  and  withal  a 
devout  Christian — who  said  to  me,  in  a  manner  and 
tone  of  sensibility  I  can  never  forget — My  great  trial  in 
religion  is,  to  find  how  a  clean  bosom,  in  regard  to  sin, 
is  ever  possible.  I  can  not  see  how  my  sin  can  ever  be 
really  gotten  away ;  indeed  I  fall  into  such  darkness  on 
this  point,  w^hen  I  undertake  to  solve  it,  that  I  quite 
lose  my  faith  in  the  possibility  of  a  real  deliverance,  and 
feel  obliged  to  say  with  David — "my  sin  is  ever  before 
me."  He  went  on  to  state  his  difficulty  more  fully,  but 
as  I  have  it  on  hand  to  make  an  exposition  of  the  whole 
subject,  the  ground  of  his  difficulty  will  be  covered  with 
much  other  ground  beside.  How  then  is  it,  or  how 
is  it  to  be  imagined,  that  Christ,  by  his  sacrifice,  takes 
away  the  condemning  conscience,  or  the  felt  dishonor 
of  transgression  ?  This  is  the  question  we  are  to  con- 
sider, and,  if  possible,  answer ;  in  doing  which  I  will — 

I.  Go  over,  as  briefly  as  may  be,  certain  supposed 
answers,  that  do  not  appear  to  reach  the  real  point  of 
the  question ;  and — 

II.  Will  endeavor  to  exhibit  and  support  by  suffi- 
cient illustrations  w^hat  appears  to  be  the  true  scriptural 
answer. 

I.  The  supposed    answers    that  are    not  sufficient 


TAKEN    AWAY.  295 

They  are  various  and  very  unlike  among  themselves ; 
they  still  fall  short,  all  of  them,  at  the  same  point ;  viz, 
in  the  fact  that  they  do  not  touch,  or  take  away  at  all 
from  the  mind,  or  memory,  or  conscience,  the  fact  and 
shame  of  wrong-doing.  Be  the  remedy  this  or  that, 
still  the  man,  as  a  man,  is  none  the  less  consciously 
guilty,  none  the  less  really  dishonored,  shamed,  damned, 
before  himself.  There  stands  the  fact,  unmoved  and 
immovable  forever,  that  he  is  a  malefactor  soul,  none 
the  better  for  being  safe,  or  forgiven,  or  justified. 

Thus,  when  it  is  conceived  that  Christ  has  borne  our 
punishment,  that,  if  it  were  true,  might  take  away  our 
fear  of  punishment,  but  fear  is  one  thing,  and  mortified 
honor,  self-condemning  guilt,  self-chastising  remorse, 
another  and  very  different  thing ;  and  that  will  be  only 
the  more  exasperated,  that  divine  innocence  itself  has 
been  put  to  suffering  on  its  account. 

Neither  will  it  bring  any  relief  to  show  that  the 
'justice  of  God  is  satisfied.  Be  it  so;  the  transgressor 
is  none  the  better  satisfied  with  himself — his  own  self- 
damning  justice  is  as  far  from  being  satisfied  as  before. 

Is  it  then  conceived  that  what  has  satisfied  the  justice 
of  God,  has  also  atoned  the  guilty  conscience  ?  Will  it 
then  make  the  guilty  conscience  less  guilty,  or  say 
sweeter  things  of  itself,  that  it  sees  innocence,  purity, 
goodness  divine,  put  to  suffering  for  it  ?  If  any  thing 
could  exasperate,  even  insupportably,  the  sense  of  guilt, 
it  should  be  that. 

Is  it  then  brought  forward  to  quell  the  guilt  of  the 
conscience  that  Christ  has  evened  our  account  legally  bj 


296  THE    BAD    CONSCIOUSNESS 

his  sacrifice,  and  that  we  are  even  justified  of  God,  for 
Christ's  sake  ?  But  if  God,  in  this  manner,  and  by  a  ki  nd 
of  benevolent  fiction,  calls  us  just,  do  we  any  the  less  cer- 
tainly disapprove  and  damn  ourselves  even  to  eternity  ? 
Nothing  it  would  seem  can  save  us  from  it,  but  to  lose 
the  integrity  of  our  judgments! 

Forgiveness  taken  as  a  mere  release  of  claim,  or  a 
negative  letting  go  of  right  against  transgression,  brings, 
if  possible,  even  less  help  to  the  conscience.  Christ  had 
forgiven  his  crucifiers  in  his  dying  prayer,  but  it  was 
the  very  crime  of  the  cross,  nevertheless,  that  pricked 
so  many  hundreds  of  hearts  on  the  day  of  pentecost. 
Christ  had  forgiven  them,  but  their  consciences  had 
not! 

But  Christ  renews  the  soul  itself,  it  will  be  said,  and 
makes  it  just  within;  when,  of  course,  it  will  be  justi- 
fied. That  does  not  follow.  If  Judas  at  the  very  point 
where  he  confessed — "I  have  betrayed  the  innocent 
blood,"  could  have  been  instantly  transformed  into  an 
angel  of  beauty,  his  purified  sensibility  would  have 
been  shaken,  I  think,  with  a  greater  horror  even  of  his 
crime  than  before. 

But  the  fatherhood  of  God — the  disciple  of  another 
and  different  school  will  take  refuge  under  that,  and 
say,  that  here,  at  least,  there  is  truly  no  more  conscience 
of  sins.  Would  it  not  be  strange,  if  a  tolerably  good 
father  can  forgive  and  forget,  and  God  can  not?  But 
who  is  God,  and  what  most  fitly  represents  him?  a 
mortal  father  who  is  able,  just  because  of  his  weakness^ 
to  forgive  and  forget,  or  to  forgive  without  forgettingj 


TAKEN    AWAY.  297 

or  to  forget  without  forgiving,  or  the  transgressor's  own 
everlasting  immutable  conscience,  which  can  neither 
forgive  nor  forget?  What  is  this  conscience,  in  fact, 
but  God's  throne  of  judgment  in  the  man?  Why,  if 
G-od,  in  his  fatherhood,  were  such  a  kind  of  being, 
dealing  in  laxities  and  fond  accommodations,  having  no 
care  for  his  rectoral  honor,  as  the  defender  of  right  and 
order,  we  certainly  are  not  such  to  ourselves.  A  con- 
science that  can  say,  "  no  matter,  God  is  rather  loose  and 
very  easy  with  his  children,  therefore  I  will  be  to  my- 
self as  good  in  my  sin,  and  let  the  matter  go," — I  cer- 
tainly, for  one,  wdiatever  may  be  said  by  others,  have 
no  conscience  that  can  go  in  that  loose  gait.  I  love 
my  conscience  because  it  is  the  one  thing  in  me  that 
goes  true,  and  will  unalterably,  inevitably  damn  my 
wrongs,  even  if  God  should  let  them  go.  I^ay,  if  God 
be  such  a  God,  it  would  even  set  me  in  a  shudder,  to 
find  how  easily  I  might  sigh  for  a  being  whom  I  can 
more  sufiiciently  respect. 

You  perceive  in  this  recital,  my  friends,  how  great  a 
matter  we  have  undertaken,  and  how  very  obstinate,  or 
intractable,  our  difficulty  is.  Doubtless  a  foul  vessel 
may  be  washed,  a  fracture  mended,  a  personal  injury 
redressed,  a  sick  body  restored  to  health  and  soundness, 
and  dressed  in  a  new  covering  of  flesh ;  nay,  there  is  a 
clear  possibility  of  raising  the  dead  to  life,  but  to  con- 
ceive a  sinner  so  wrought  in  as  to  obliterate  the  fact  of 
his  dn,  leaving  no  more  conscience  of  it,  is  a  very  dif 
ferent  matter,  and  if  the  possibility  were  not  really 
shown  by  the  gospel  itself,  we  must  certainly  give  up 


298  THE    BAP    CONSCIOUSNESS 

the  question,  as  one  tliat  we  can  not  solve,  hj  anj 
faciiltj  that  God  has  given  us.     "We  come  then — 

11.  Td  the  question  as  it  is,  and  the  answer  given  it 
Dj  tlie  scriptures  of  God. 

The  great  question  meeting  us  at  this  point  is,  whether 
it  is  possible,  or  how  far  possible,  to  change  the  con- 
sciousness of  a  soul,  without  any  breach  of  its  identity  ? 
In  this  manner,  we  shall  find,  the  gospel  undertakes  to 
remove,  and  assumes  the  fact  of  a  removal  of,  the  dis- 
honor and  self-condemnation  of  sin.  But  we  shall  con- 
ceive the  matter  more  easily  and  naturally,  if  we  notice, 
before  going  into  the  scripture  inquiry,  certain  analogies 
discoverable  in  our  human  state,  which  may  serve  as 
approaches  to  the  proper  truth  of  the  question. 

Thus  a  thoroughly  venal,  low-principled  man,  elected 
President  of  the  United  States,  will  undergo,  not  un- 
likel}^,  an  inward  lifting  of  sentiment  and  impulse,  cor- 
responding with  the  immense  lift  of  his  position.  The 
great  honor  put  upon  him  makes  him  willing  to  honor 
himself.  He  wants  to  deserve  his  place  and  begins  to  act 
in  character  in  it.  He  is  the  same  man,  regarding  his 
personal  identity,  but  he  is  raised,  even  to  himself,  in 
the  grade  he  occupies.  His  old  natural  consciousness 
has  a  kind  of  Presidential  consciousness  superinduced, 
which  holds  a  higher  range  of  quality.  He  lives,  in 
fact,  Presidentially,  and  is  dignified  inwardly  by  the 
dignities  of  his  position. 

How  many  thousand  soldiers,  who  before  were  living 
in  the  low,  mean  vices,  lost  to  character  and  self-respect, 


TAKEN    AWAY.  299 

have  been  raised,  in  like  manner,  in  our  armies,  to 
quite  another  grade  of  being.  It  has  given  them  a 
wholly  different  sense  of  themselves,  that  their  dear, 
g.'eat  country  has  come  upon  them  in  so  great  power. 
They  are  consciously  ennobled,  in  the  fact  that  they 
have  borne  themselves  heroically  in  the  field ;  and  are 
so  become  another  kind  of  man  even  to  themselves. 
They  are  the  same,  yet  by  a  vast  reach  of  distance  not 
the  same.  A  certain  great  something  has  come  into 
their  feeling.  They  stand  more  firmly,  and  bear  them- 
selves more  erectly ;  and  it  gives  them  an  exultant  feel- 
ing even,  that  their  discouraged  and  miserably  forlgrn 
consciousness  is  gone — supplanted  by  the  sense  of  self- 
respect,  and  manly  honor. 

The  same,  again,  is  true  in  a  different  way,  of  all  the 
gifted  ones  in  art  and  speech  and  poetry,  when  they  are 
taken  by  the  inspirations  of  genius.  When  such  a  soul, 
that  was  down  upon  the  level  of  uses,  torturing  itself 
into  production  for  applause,  or  even  for  bread,  begins 
to  behold  God's  signatures  upon  his  works  and  worlds, 
and  the  magnificent  discipline  he  gives  us ;  discovering 
in  objects  ideas,  in  facts  the  faces. of  truth ;  catching  also 
the  fires  of  a  Promethean  heat  from  all  subtlest  moods 
and  hardest  flints  of  experience ; — then  it  is  become,  to 
itself,  quite  another  creature.  It  is  as  if  the  grub-state 
were  gone  by,  and  the  winged  life  had  broken  loose,  to 
try  the  freedom  of  the  air.  In  that  finer  element  he 
ranges  at  will,  lifted  by  his  ethereal  seership,  to  move  in 
altitudes  hitherto  unvisited;  consciously  another  and 
different  being — another,  yet  still  the  same. 


800  THE    BAD    CONSCIOUSNESS 

In  these  and  other  like  examples,  afforded  us  in  the 
field  of  our  natural  life,  we  are  made  familiar  with  the 
possibility  of  remarkable  liftings  in  the  consciousness  of 
men,  such  as  make  them  really  other  to  themselves,  and 
set  them  in  a  higher  range  of  being;  and,  by  these 
examples,  we  are  prepared,  as  it  were  beforehand,  to 
that  more  wonderful  ascent  above  ourselves  which  is 
accomplished  in  Christ,  when  he  takes  us  away  from  the 
conscience  of  sins.  He  does  it — this  is  the  general,  or 
inclusive  truth  that  covers  the  whole  ground  of  the 
subject — by  so  communicating  God,  or  himself  as  the 
express  image  of  God,  that  he  changes,  in  fact,  the 
plane  of  our  existence.  Without  due  note  of  this,  we 
do  not  understand  Christianity ;  the  very  thing  it  pro- 
poses is  to  bring  us  up  into  another  level,  where  the 
consciousness  shall  take  in  other  matter,  and  have  a 
higher  range.  Thus,  when  the  apostle  says — "And 
hath  raised  us  up  together  and  made  us  sit  together  in 
heavenly  places  in  Christ  Jesus,"  he  is  speaking  of  a 
change  purely  internal,  a  conscious  lifting  to  another 
grade  of  life,  and  a  higher  range  of  jo}'-.  The  word 
places,  here  occurring,  belongs  to  the  English  only,  and 
it  is  put  in  to  fill  out  the  plural  of  the  neuter  adjective 
heavenlies,  used  here  as  a  noun.  But  sitting  in  the 
heavenlies,  does  not  mean,  of  necessity,  sitting  in  other 
localities.  It  means  sitting  in  heavenly  things,  as  well; 
above  the  world,  that  is,  and  the  flesh  and  sin,  in  the 
serene,  pure  element  of  God's  eternal  love  and  glory, 
there  to  be  folJed  in  harmony,  raised  in  consciousness, 
filled  to  the  full  with  all  God's  heavenlies,  even  as  his 


TAKEN    AWAY.  801 

angels  are;  no  more  to  be  shamed  forever  bj  the 
little,  defiled  consciousness  that  is  henceforth  over- 
spread, submerged,  and  drowned  by  the  sea-full  of 
God's  infinite  worthiness  and  righteousness  wafted  in 
upon  it. 

Now  it  must  not  be  imagined  that  this  one  passage  of 
scripture  stands  by  itself  in  asserting  such  a  sentiment. 
The  whole  New  Testament  is  full  of  it.  "  If  ye  then  be 
risen  with  Christ  seek  those  things  which  are  above, 
where  Christ  sitteth  at  the  right  hand  of  God," — "  Hath 
made  us  kings  and  priests  unto  God," — "A  chosen 
generation — a  royal  priesthood," — "Partakers  of  the 
divine  nature," — "  Sons  of  God," — In  all  such  modes  of 
expression,  and  a  hundred  others  that  might  be  cited,  we 
have  the  same  thought  breaking  out  on  our  discovery ; 
that  Christ  is  lifting  us  out  of  shame  and  condemnation, 
into  a  higher  plane  and  a  footing  of  conscious  affilia- 
tion with  God. 

But  you  will  not  conceive  how  very  essential  this 
idea  of  a  raising  of  the  consciousness  may  be,  if  you  do 
not  bring  up  distinctly  the  immense  fall  of  our  mortal 
consciousness,  in  the  precipitation  of  our  sin.  In  their 
true  normal  condition,  as  originally  created,  human 
souls  are  inherently  related  to  God,  made  permeable 
and  inspirable  by  him,  intended  to  move  in  his  divine 
impulse  forever.  A  sponge  in  the  sea  is  not  more  truly 
made  to  be  filled  and  permeated  by  the  water  in  which 
it  grows,  than  a  soul  to  be  permeated  and  possessed  by 
the  Infinite  Life.  It  is  so  made  that,  over  and  above 
the  little,  tiny  consciousness  it  has  of  itself,  it  may  have 

26 


802  THE    BAD    CONSCIOUSNESS 

a  grand,  all-inclusive  consciousness  of  God.  In  that 
consciousness  it  was  to  be,  and  be  lifted  and  blessed 
evermore.  The  senses  it  should  have  of  God,  always 
present,  were  to  be  its  dignity,  its  base  of  equilibrium, 
its  everlasting  strength,  and  growth,  and  majesty,  and 
reigning  power  in  good. 

But  this  higher  consciousness,  the  consciousness  of 
God,  is  exactly  what  was  lost  in  trangression,  and 
nothing  was  left  of  course  but  the  little,  defiled  con- 
sciousness of  ourselves,  in  which  we  are  all  contriving 
how  to  get  some  particles  of  good,  or  pleasure,  or  pride, 
or  passion,  that  will  comfort  us.  The  great,  inspirable. 
and  divinely  permeable  faculty,  is  closed  up.  We  do 
not  know  God  any  more,  we  only  know  ourselves. 
We  have  the  eyes,  and  the  ears,  that  were  given  us,  but 
we  are  too  blind  to  see,  too  deaf  to  hear — "  Having  the 
understanding  darkened,  being  alienated  from  the  life 
of  God,  through  the  ignorance  that  is  in  us  because  of 
the  blindness  of  our  heart."  The  true  normal  footing 
or  plane  of  our  humanity  was  thus  let  down,  and  it  is 
exactly  this  which  Christ  undertakes  to  restore.  And 
until  that  restoration  is  accomplished,  the  soul  occupies 
a  plane  of  mere  self-knowing,  and  self-loving,  and  is,  in 
fact,  a  lower  order  of  being.  It  lives  in  the  conscience 
of  sins,  a  guilty,  self-denouncing,  and  miserably  shamed 
life.  But  as  soon  as  it  is  opened  to  God,  by  the  faith 
of  Jesus  Christ,  and  is  truly  born  of  God,  it  begins  to 
be  the  higher  creature  God  meant  it  to  be — the  same 
yet  another.  It  is  no  more  like  the  sponge  stuck  fast 
on  some  dry  rock,  but  like  the  same,  filled  and  vitalized 


TAKEN    AWAY.  303 

by  its  own  proper  element,  and  spreading  itself  in  ita 
possessorship,  so  to  speak,  of  the  sea ! 

It  is  of  course  to  be  admitted  tliat  tlie  disciple,  raised 
thus  in  his  plane,  has  the  same  conscience,  and  remem- 
bers the  same  sins,  and  is  the  very  same  person  that  he 
was  before ;  but  the  consciousness  of  God,  now  restored, 
makes  him  so  nearly  another  being  to  himself,  that  the 
old  torment  of  his  sin  will  scarcely  so  much  as  ripple 
the  flow  of  his  pea,ce.  It  takes,  in  fact,  a  considerable 
rock,  a  little  way  oat  from  the  shore,  to  do  more  than 
dimple  or  curl  the  tide-swell  coming  in ;  and  the  sea, 
at  the  full,  will  simply  bury  it  and  hide  it  from  the 
sight,  in  the  depths  of  its  own  stillness.  Or  we  may  im- 
agine, without  much  danger  of  extravagance,  that  when 
a  soul  is  really  filled  with  the  higher  consciousness, 
moving  wholly  in  the  divine  movement,  so  great  a  lift- 
ing of  character,  and  quality,  and  action,  will  carry  it 
above  the  old  range  so  completely,  as  to  let  the  wrong 
and  shame  quite  drop  away ;  even  as  the  insect  creatures 
hovering  on  wings  about  us,  flitting  in  swift  motion, 
and  playing  with  the  air  and  the  light,  remember 
probably  no  more  the  cold,  slow  worms  they  were,  when 
crawling,  but  a  week  ago,  in  the  ground. 

You  will  understand,  of  course,  that  if  Christ  is  purg- 
ing thus  men's  consciences,  by  lifting  them  above  them- 
selves, into  a  higher  range  of  life,  the  conception  will 
appear  and  reappear,  in  many  distinct  forms,  and  weave 
itself,  in  as  many  varieties,  into  the  whole  texture  of 
Christianity.  Notice  then  three  distinct  forms,  not  to 
speak   of  others,   in   which   this   change   of  grade  oi 


304  THE    BAD    CONSCIOUSNESS 

personal  consciousness  comes  into  view  as  a  mighty 
gospel  fact. 

As  the  first  of  these,  I  noxriQ  justification^  or  justificat ion 
hy  faith.  The  grand  last  point  or  final  efiect  of  Christian 
justification  is,  "no  more  conscience  of  sins;"-  for,  hav- 
ing that  accomplished,  it  is  inconceivable  that  God 
should  condemn  us  when  we  do  not  condemn  ourselves, 
and  having  it  not  accomplished,  but  condemning  still 
ourselves,  no  justification  bj  God  will  do  us  any  good. 
But  in  this  matter  of  justification,  the  less  we  make  of 
the  old  standing  alternative  the  better;  what  if  it 
should  happen  that,  while  we  are  debating  which  of 
two  conceptions  is  the  true  one,  they  are  neither  of  them 
true  ?  And  so  I  think  it  will  sometime  be  found. 
According  to  the  scripture,  which  is  very  plain,  gospel 
justification  turns  on  no  such  mere  objective  matter  as 
the  squaring  of  an  account;  nor  on  any  such  subjective 
matter  as  our  being  made  inherently  righteous ;  but  it 
turns  on  the  fact  of  our  being  so  invested  with  God, 
and  closeted  in  his  righteous  impulse,  that  he  becomes 
a  felt  righteousness  upon  us.  Our  consciousness  is  so 
far  changed,  in  this  manner,  by  the  river-flood  of  God's 
character  upon  us,  that,  as  long  as  our  faith  keeps  the 
connection  good,  and  permits  the  river  to  flow,  we  are 
raised  above  all  condemnation  and  have  no  more  con- 
science of  sins.  Inherently  speaking  we  are  not  right- 
eous ;  our  store  is  in  God,  not  in  ourselves ;  "but  we 
have  the  supply  traductively  from  him,  just  as  we  do 
the  supply  of  light  from  the  sun.  But  the  new  divine 
consciousness  in  which  we  live  is  continually  conforming 


TAKEN    AWAY.  305 

US,  more  and  more  deeply,  and  will  settle  us,  at  last,  in 
its  own  pure  habit.  In  this  manner,  faith  is  counted  to 
us  for  righteousness,  because  it  holds  us  to  God,  in 
whom  we  have  our  springs  of  supply. 

See  how  beautifully  and  simply  Paul  sets  forth  this 
true  Christian  idea  of  justification — "But  now  the 
righteousness  of  God,  without  the  law,  is  manifested, 
even  the  righteousness  of  God,  which  is  by  faith  of 
Jesus  Christ,  unto  all  and  upon  all  them  that  believe.'* 
It  is  not  righteousness  for  us  in  a  book,  nor  in  us  by 
inherent  character,  but  righteousness  unto  us  and  upon 
us,  in  its  own  living  flow,  as  long  as  we  believe.  It  ia 
a  higher  consciousness  which  God  generates  and  feeds, 
and  as  long  as  he  does  it  there  is  no  more  conscience  of 
sins. 

This  same  truth  of  a  raising  of  our  plane  appears  in 
another  form,  in  what  is  called  the  witness  of  the  Spirit. 
'  The  Spirit  itself  beareth  witness  with  our  spirit  that 
we  are  the  children  of  God ;  and  if  children  then  heirs, 
heirs  of  God  and  joint  heirs  with  Christ."  Here  the 
conception  is  that,  as  being  spirit,  we  are  permeable  by 
the  divine  Spirit,  and  that  he  has  a  way  of  working  in 
our  working,  so  as  to  be  consciously  known  as  a  better 
presence  in  our  hearts.  And  so  we  have  the  confidence 
of  children  or  sons,  raised  in  our  before  low-bred  nature, 
and  dare  to  count  ourselves  God's  heirs — fellow  heirs 
with  Christ  our  brother.  Nothing  is  said  of  sins  in  this 
connection,  but  we  can  see  for  ourselves  that,  being  thus 
ennobled  by  the  inflowing  Spirit,  we  shall  be  too  much 
raised  in  the  confidence  of  our  dignity,  to  be   troubled 

26* 


806  THE    BAD    CONSCIOUSNESS 

or  shamed  by  tlie  past.  And  this  same  lifting,  or  en- 
nobling of  our  spirit,  is  put  in  other  forms  of  assertion; 
as  when  Christ,  promising  the  Comforter,  says — "At 
that  day  ye  shall  know  that  I  am  in  my  Father,  and  ye 
in  me,  and  I  in  you."  To  be  thus  interlocked  with  the 
.Father  and  the  Son  in  a  firm  knowledge  of  the  fact, 
revealed  by  the  witnessing  Spirit,  is  to  have  a  conscious- 
ness opened  that  is  dignity  itself  and  glory  begun. 
The  same  thing  is  put  more  practically,  by  the  apostle, 
when  he  says — "  Walk  in  the  Spirit  and  ye  shall  not 
fulfill  the  lusts  of  the  flesh."  Keep  fast  in  the  higher 
element,  where  the  senses  of  God  and  his  joy  are  lifting 
the  mind  into  liberty,  and  the  lower  and  more  carnal 
impulses  will  be  left  behind  and  forgot. 

Once  more  this  grand  fact  of  the  gospel,  the  raising 
of  our  plane  of  being,  is  presented  in  a  still  different 
manner  in  what  is  said  of  the  conscious  inhabitation  of 
Christ.  "Christ  in  you  the  hope  of  glory," — "But  ye 
see  me," — "Abide  in  me," — "  Until  Christ  be  formed  in 
you."  But  the  great  apostle  to  the  Gentiles,  himself  a 
Christian  man  all  through,  having  that  for  his  sublime 
distinction,  declares  himself,  on  this  point,  out  of  his 
very  consciousness — "  I  am  crucified  with  Christ,  never- 
theless I  live ;  3^et  not  I,  but  Christ  liveth  in  me."  It  is. 
you  perceive,  as  if  his  being  itself  were  taken  well-nigh 
out  of  its  identit}^  by  Christ  revealed  in  it.  The  old  sin 
■ — he  does  not  think  of  it.  The  old  I — why  it  is  gone — 
"  3^et  not  I."  He  was  going  to  say  that  he  Paul  was  alive, 
but  he  did  not  like  to  say  so  much  as  that,  and  so  he  puts 
down  his  negative  on  it,  and  says  he  does  not  live.     But 


TAKEN    AWAY.  807 

0,  the  living,  all-quickening  Christ- -that  is  boasting 
enough — "  Christ  liveth  in  me ;  for  the  life  I  now  live  in 
the  flesh,  I  live  by  the  faith  of  the  Son-of  Goi,  who  loved 
me  and  gave  himself  for  me."  How  great  a  fact  was 
the  lifting  of  this  man's  plane,  which  took  him,  demon- 
ized  by  bigotry  and  hate,  and  made  him  the  hero  and 
strangely  Christed  propagator  of  the  cross.  Then  he 
was  Saul,  now  he  is  Paul ;  but  the  change  touches  more 
than  a  letter — -he  is  raised  even  in  his  own  feeling  to  quite 
another  order  of  being.  The  conscience  of  sins — it  may 
be  that  he  has  it  in  a  sense ;  for,  being  an  eternal  fact, 
he  must  eternally  know  it ;  but  the  Christ-consciousness 
in  him  ranges  so  high  above  the  self-consciousness,  that 
he  lives  in  a  summit  of  exaltation,  which  the  infinitesi- 
mal disturbances  of  his  human  wrong  and  shame  can 
not  reach. 

Here  then,  my  friends,  j^ou  have  opened  to  view  one 
of  the  greatest  triumphs  of  Christianity,  perhaps  the 
very  greatest  of  all.  To  bring  a  clean  thing  out  of  an 
unclean  is  a  much  easier  matter  than  to  make  a  good 
conscience  out  of  an  evil  or  accusing  conscience.  Here 
the  difficulty  appears  to  be  a  kind  of  metaphysical  im- 
possibilit}^  Indeed  there  is  no  philosopher,  who  would 
not  say,  beforehand,  that  such  a  thing  is  even  demon 
strably  impossible.  For  if  the  accusing  conscience  ac- 
cuses rightly,  then  it  must  either  be  extirpated,  which 
decomposes  the  man,  or  else  it  must  be  suborned  to 
give  a  lying  testimony,  when  of  course  it  will  even 
condemn  itself     But  our  gospel  is  able  to  look  so  great 


808  THE    BAD    CONSCIOUSNESS 

a  difficulty  in  the  face,  and,  what  is  more,  turns  it  by  a 
method  so  very  simple  as  to  be  even  sublime.  When 
once  you  have  conceived  the  possibility  of  raising  a  soul 
into  a  higher  grade  and  order,  where  the  consciousness 
shall  take  in  more  than  the  mere  self,  the  body  of  God's 
own  righteousness,  and  love,  and  peace,  the  problem  is 
solved  and  that,  in  a  way  so  plain,  yet  so  easily  enno- 
bling to  our  state  of  shame,  that  it  proves  itself  by  its 
own  self-supporting  evidence.  This  we  say  instinctively 
ought  to  be  and  must  be  true. 

Only  the  more  strange  is  it  that,  when  this  way  of 
remedy  is,  and  no  other  can  be,  sufficient,  we  so  easily 
fall  out  of  our  faith,  and  begin  to  put  ourselves  on 
methods  of  purgation  that  only  mock  our  endeavor. 
Having  the  grand  possibilities  of  a  good  conscience 
opened  to  us  in  Christ,  and  nothing  given  us  to  do  but 
just  to  receive  by  faith  the  manifested  righteousness  of 
God,  we  begin  to  work,  in  the  lower  level  of  our  shame, 
upon  the  shameful  unclean  matter,  as  if  going  to  purge 
it  ourselves.  One  will  mend  himself  up  in  a  way  of 
self-correction ;  which,  if  he  could  do,  would,  alas,  not 
even  touch  the  conscience  of  his  old  sins.  Another 
goes  to  the  work  of  self-cultivation,  where  he  may  pos- 
sibly start  some  plausible  amenities  on  the  top  of  his 
bad  conscience,  even  as  flowers  will  sometimes  be  in* 
duced  to  grow  upon  a  glacier.  Another  will  pacify  his 
bad  conscience  by  his  alms  and  philanthropic  sacrifices, 
when  an  avalanche  on  its  way  could  as  well  be  pacified 
by  the  same.  Others  will  make  up  a  purgation  by  their 
repressive  penances  and  voluntary  humiliations,  when 


TAKEN    AWAY.  S09 

the  very  thing  their  consciences  complain  of  is,  that 
they  are  too  miserably  shamed  and  humiliated  already. 
Multitudes  also  will  expect  much  from  purgatorial  fires 
hereafter,  as  if  being  duly  chastised  could  make  a  good 
conscience  I  or  as  if  these  supposed  fires  would  not 
rather  burn  in  the  brand  of  sin  than  burn  it  out !  Now 
these  poor  scanty  methods  of  delusion,  unlike  as  they 
are  to  each  other,  are  just  as  good  one  as  another, 
because  they  are  all  equally  worthless.  Who  could 
believe  that  rational  beings,  having  so  grand  a  way 
open  to  the  new  footing  of  sons  of  God,  and  having 
once  conceived  that  way,  could  yet  subside  into  these 
wretched  futilities  ? 

Worthier  of  sympathy  but  scarcely  more  worthy  of 
the  gospel  name,  are  those  hapless  souls,  who  have 
fallen  under  their  bad  conscience  to  be  forever  harrowed 
and  tormented  by  it.  They  have  no  faith  to  believe  in 
a  concrete,  personal  grace,  and  are  only  haunted  by  the 
nightmare  of  their  moral  convictions.  They  mope 
along  their  pathway  therefore,  looking  always  shame- 
fully down ;  as  if  the  sky  above  were  paved  with  con- 
demnations. If  they  bear  the  Christian  name,  they  have 
yet  no  real  peace,  no  sweet  element  of  rest  and  confi- 
dence. They  seem  ever  to  be  saying,  "  mine  iniquities 
have  taken  hold  upon  me  so  that  I  am  not  able  to  look 
up."  Or  sometimes  there  is  a  trouble  more  specific — 
some  one  sin,  the  shame,  tbe  inward  mortification,  or 
damnation  of  which,  follows  them,  day  and  night,  and 
even  year  by  year ;  a  crime  unknown  to  the  world,  but 
for  which  they  inwardly  blush,  or  choke  with  guilty 


810  THE    BAD    CONSCIOUSNESS 

pain,  whenever  it  meets  tliem  alone.  They  seem  to  be 
even  everlastingly  dishonored  before  themselves.  Per- 
haps they  are,  and  fitly  should  be;  but,  my  friends, 
there  is  a  medicine  for  all  such  torments.  Looking 
down  upon  jomy  sins,  or  your  particular  sin,  you  can 
be,  must  be,  everlastingly  shamed;  but  if  you  can  look 
away  to  Christ,  take  hold  of  Christ  and  rise  with  him, 
you  shall  go  above  your  trouble,  jou.  shall  be  strong, 
and  free,  and  full,  and  even  righteous;  established  in 
all  glorious  confidence,  because  your  very  consciousness 
is  lifted  and  glorified,  by  what  comes  into  it  from  God's 
eternal  concourse  and  friendship. 

And  here,  just  here,  in  fact,  we  strike  the  culminating 
point  of  wonder  and  glory  in  what  Christ,  by  his  more 
perfect  offering,  has  been  able  and  was  even  required  to 
accomplish,  to  put  us  on  a  footing  of  complete  salvation  ; 
viz.,  a  restoration,  forever,  of  the  soul's  lost  honor.  We 
could  not  take  our  place  among  the  pure  angels  of  God, 
and  be  really  united  to  their  blessedness,  when  we  are 
inwardly  self-disgusted,  shamed,  and  even  to  be  eternally 
stigmatized,  by  our  condemning  consciences.  Nothing 
sufficiently  restores  us,  which  does  not  restore  the  mind's 
honor.  And  this,  exactly,  is  our  confidence;  "that  we 
are  to  be  found  unto  praise,  and  honor,  and  glory,  at  the 
appearing  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ."  We  are  even 
called  to  "seek  for  honor,  and  glory,  and  immortality." 
What  dishonor,  what  possible  shame,  can  be  our  tor- 
ment, when  our  very  consciousness  is  robed  in  the  riglit- 
eousness  of  God  ?  There  is  to  be  no  more  condemnation, 
no  more  conscience  of  sins ;  simply  because  we  are  sc 


TAKEN"    AWAY.  311 

raised  in  the  plane  of  our  sentiment  and  life,  that  we 
may  think  of  ourselves,  without  any  sense  of  dishonor 
upon  us.  We  go  in — heirs,  sons,  princes  of  God — ^join- 
ing ourselves  boldly  to  all  the  royalties  and  sublime 
honors  of  the  kingdom. 

Are  there  none  of  us,  my  friends,  that  have  many 
times  sighed  after  just  this  hope,  nay,  that  are  sighing 
for  it  now  ?  You  have  lost  forever,  you  say,  the  chas- 
tity of  your  nature,  you  are  and  must  forever  be  a  guilty 
man;  how  then  can  you  ever  think  of  yourself 
without  mortification  ?  Getting  into  heaven  itself,  what 
can  you  ever  do  with  so  many  bad  facts  upon  you,  and 
a  bad  conscience  in  you  testifying  eternally  against 
them  ?  No !  no !  There  is  even  to  be  given  back  the 
sense  of  honor  that  was  lost.  You  shall  go  in,  not  to 
hang  your  head,  but  to  hold  it  up  in  praise  and  confi- 
dence. Now  that  mighty  word  is  fulfilled  according  to 
its  utmost  meaning — "raised  up  together  to  sit  in  the 
heavenlies."  We  are  there  "together"  in  the  common 
fold,  we  "sit"  there  in  a  titled  security,  the  "heaven- 
lies  "  are  all  ours — the  honor,  the  confidence,  the  peace, 
the  praise.  0  my  God,  what  reverence  shall  every 
creature  have  for  every  other,  when  thou  puttest  honor 
upon  all !  gathering  in  before  thee,  nothing  which  de- 
fileth,  or  abideth  in  shame,  but  only  such  as  Christ  hath 
raised  to  eternal  honor,  before  both  thee  and  themselves! 


XV. 

THE  BAD  MIND   MAKES  A  BAD  ELEMENT, 


'''•Then  answered  the  Jews  and  said  unto  him — say  iue_ 
not  well,  that  thou  art  a  Samariia7ij  and  hast  a  devil  f" 
—John  viii,  48. 

It  is  often  remarked  as  a  curious,  half  ludicrous  dis- 
tinction of  insane  persons,  that  they  look  on  others 
round  them  as  being  out  of  their  head.  And  yet  this 
kind  of  phenomenon  is  more  or  less  observable,  in  all 
cases  of  diseased  action,  whether  mental  or  spiritual; 
the  subject  sees  his  disorder,  not  in  himself,  but  in  the 
objects  and  conditions  round  him. 

Under  the  disease  or  disaffection  called  sin,  the  same 
is  true ;  as  we  may  see  by  the  answer  of  these  carping 
hypocrites,  when  Christ  reproves  their  high  pretenses, 
and  sanctimonious  lies.  "You  call  yourselves  children 
of  Abraham,"  he  says,  "when  you  do  none  of  his 
works,  when  your  fatherhood  is  more  truly  discovered 
in  the  father  of  lies.  And  as  he  abode  not  in  the  truth, 
and  has  no  truth  in  him,  so  because  I  tell  you  the 
truth  ye  believe  me  not."  They  feel  the  sharpness  of 
the  words,  but  do  not  perceive  the  solemn  justice  of 
the  argument- '  throwing  it  captiously  back  upon  him 
as  ik  the  text ;   '  say  we  not  well,  that  thou  art  a  Sama- 


THE    BAD    MIND,    ETC.  818 

ritan  and  hast  a  devil?"  Just  as  they  should  if  his  ar- 
gament  was  true;  for  the  men  who  have  a  devilish 
spirit  are  sure  to  see  their  devil  objectively  in  others. 
There  must  be  a  devil  on  hand  somewhere,  they  are 
sure,  and  who  will  expect  them  to  find  it  where  it  is,  in 
themselves?  The  truth  accordingly  which  I  now  pro- 
pose for  your  consideration  is  this : 

Tfiat  a  had  mind  sees  had  things^  and  mokes  to  itself  a 
had  element.  In  other  words,  a  bad  mind  projects  its 
own  evils  into  persons  and  conditions  round  it ;  charg- 
ing the  pains  of  its  own  inward  disorder  to  the  objects 
that  refuse  to  bless  it,  and  counting,  it  may  be,  Christ 
himself  a  sting  only  of  annoyance. 

It  would  be  far  more  agreeable  to  me  to  assert  this 
truth  universally,  or  so  as  to  include  the  good ;  show- 
ing how  they  convert  all  things  to  good  by  their  bright 
and  loving  spirit,  and  how  the  stones  even  of  the  field 
are  in  league  with  them  to  bless  them ;  but  this  would 
take  me  over  too  large  a  ground,  and  therefore  I  must 
be  content  to  occupy  you,  for  the  time,  with  a  subject 
not  grateful  in  itself,  hoping  that  you  may  even  find  the 
greater  benefit  in  it.  If  the  errand  we  are  after  is  not 
pleasant,  if  it  compels  us  to  go  burrowing  into  the 
dark,  underground  abysses  and  pains  of  evil  in  the 
soul,  let  us  not  recoil  from  the  task,  because  we  find  a 
great  deal  of  our  conceit  inverted  and  a  great  many  of 
our  complaints  of  God  and  the  world  turned  back  upon 
ourselves, 

I  do  not  mean,  of  course,  to  say,  that  we  can  have 
nothing  to  complain  of,  or  that  other  men  can  not  do 

27 


314  THE    BAD    MIND 

US  bitter  wrongs.  iSTeitlier  do  I  iindertake  to  say,  that 
we  shall  not  feel  them.  But  he  that  suffers  a  wrong 
rightly,  finds  a  law  of  compensation  going  with  him,  as 
with  God,  so  that  his  injury,  or  injured  feeling,  is 
repaid  many  times  over,  like  that  of  God,  by  the  con- 
sciously sublime  repose  of  his  own  self- approving  spirit 
And,  this  being  true,  it  is  only  the  bad  mind  .n  us, 
after  all,  that  allows  us  to  be  really  troubled  and  har- 
assed  by  wrong.  I  will  only  add  that  what  I  am 
going  to  say  may  seem  to  be  an  over-statement,  or  ex- 
aggeration of  the  truth,  without  this  qualification,  and 
must  therefore  ask  to  have  it  remembered. 

We  shall  best  open  the  gate  of  our  argument  on  this 
subject,  if  we  notice  two  great  facts,  or  laws  of  oar 
nature,  which  are  the  ground  of  this  tendency  in  us  to 
refer  our  own  evils  to  things  about  us,  and  in  the  same 
way  to  keep  us  from  a  discovery  of  them  as  being  in 
ourselves. 

First,  by  a  fixed  necessity  of  language,  we  are 
obliged,  apart  from  all  the  blinding  effects  of  our  sin,  to 
represent  a  great  part  of  what  transpires  in  our  experi- 
ence, in  a  way  of  objective  description.  For  example, 
it  is  the  natural  way  of  language  to  call  things  "hot," 
"sweet,"  "bitter,"  and  the  like,  when  in  fact  the  words 
really  describe  nothing  but  our  own  inward  sensations. 
So  we  say  that  a  "  subject  is  dark,"  not  because  there  is 
any  thing  dark  in  the  subject,  but  that  we  are  dark  to 
it.  So  again  we  say  that  a  thing  bears  a  "  suspicious 
look,"  when  we  are  suspicious  of  it;  or  of  some  spec- 


MAKES     A    BAD    ELEMENT.  815 

tacle  that  it  "is  fearful,"  when  we  are  fearrullj^  moved 
by  it.  We  speak  in  the  same  way  of  "taking  our 
chances"  and  "meeting  our  dangers,"  when  in  fact 
there  is  neither  chance  nor  danger  in  things  at  all,  but 
only  an  absolute  certainty  that  this  or  that  will  take 
place.  The  uncertainty,  or  ignorance  of  what  is  to 
come  is  in  us,  and  we  call  it  chance  or  danger  in  things. 
ISTow  the  great  part  of  mankind  go  through  life,  using 
every  hour  these  objective  terms  of  language,  without 
ever  once  suspecting  that  what  they  describe  as 
without,  is  nothing  but  an  experience  within  them- 
selves. Almost  all  staple  words  of  language,  as  related 
to  our  inward  experience,  are  of  just  this  kind;  it 
could  not,  as  might  easily  be  shown,  have  been  other- 
wise. In  this  manner,  we  put  almost  all  that  we  suffer, 
enjoy,  feel,  and  think,  into  the  objects  and  doings  and 
characters  round  us,  not  understanding  that  what  we 
figure,  as  in  them,  is  really  transpiring  in  ourselves— 
just  as  we  say,  how  often,  that  we  have  "  taken  a  cold," 
and  verily  believe  that  a  cold  something,  we  know  not 
what,  has  seized  us ;  whereas  we  have  simply  gotten  up 
y  fever — probably  by  over-indulgence — and  then  the 
shiverings  and  atmospheric  chills  that  follow  we  take 
for  the  causes  of  the  mischief. 

But  there  is  another  great  condition,  or  law  of  expe 
rience  in  bad  minds,  that  is  operating  always  and  more 
powerfully  in  the  same  direction.  A  bad  mind  lives  in 
things  and  for  things,  or  we  might  rather  say,  under 
things.  Condition,  pleasure,  show,  are  its  god.  And 
then  it  follows  that  the  worship  is  only  another  name 


3J6  THE    BAD    MfNP 

for  distemper,  unreason,  hallucination.  It  is  not  posi- 
tively insane,  but  what  is  verj^  nearly  the  same  thing, 
ansane — a  nature  out  of  joint,  poisoned,  racked  with 
pains,  a  cloudy,  wild,  ungoverned,  misconceiving  power. 
It  knows  nothing  but  thmgs,  and  if  things  do  not  bless 
it,  what  can  it  do  but  fall  to  cursing  them  ?  Being  a 
distempered  organ,  it  sees  its  distempers  only  in  things 
and  conditions  round  it.  Thus  when  a  diseased  ear 
keeps  up  a  nervous  drumming  in  the  brain,  all  sweetest 
music  will  have  that  drumming  in  it.  So  if  the  taste  is 
bittered  by  some  dyspectic  woe,  it  will  find  that  bitter 
savor  in  all  most  delicate  things,  and  even  in  the  pure 
waters  of  the  spring.  So  also,  I  suppose,  if  the  humors 
of  the  eye  were  jaundiced,  the  pure  light  of  heaven 
would  be  yellowed  also.  Even  the  sun  is  smoky,  seen 
through  a  smoked  glass.  Just  so  we  are  meeting  all 
sorts  of  bitter,  painful,  and  bad  things,  in  our  life,  just 
because  we  are  bitter,  painful,  bad,  ourselves,  and  can 
not  see  that  this  is  the  root  of  our  misery. 

Besides  it  is  a  fact,  under  this  great  law  of  retributive 
disorder,  that  even  good  things  are  really  bad  to  our 
feeling,  because  there  is  a  bad  mind  in  us.  They  are 
not  given  to  be  our  torment,  but  the  subjective  badness 
of  the  soul  makes  them  so ;  just  as  the  weakness  of  the 
diseased  eye  makes  the  light  a  cause  of  injury  and  pain. 
The  light  is  not  bad  in  itself,  but  the  receiving  organ  is 
bad,  and  so  the  pure  light,  image  itself  of  God,  shoots 
in  arrows  of  pain  that  sting  the  body.  In  the  same 
way  selfishness  and  sin  make  the  whole  soul  a  diseased 
receiving  organ ;  when,  of  course,  every  thing  received 


MAKES    A    BAD    ELEMENT.  317 

or  looked  upon  is  bad,  and  imparts  some  kind  of  pain. 
The  good  law  is  made  death  unto  it,  Christ  himself  a 
savor  of  death.  Truth  is  bad  to  us,  holy  men  are  a  dis- 
turbance, life  a  burden,  death  a  terror,  heaven  itself  a 
world  of  constrained  service  and  unreal  or  impossible 

We  come  now  to  the  matter  of  fact  itself.     Is  it  only 
theory  of  which  we  have  been  speaking,  or  is  it  fact  ? 

Here  we  make  our  appeal  first  of  all  to  the  scripture, 
where  the  illustrations  are  manifold  and  striking.  There 
was  never  among  men  a  more  inoffensive,  winning,  and 
beautiful  character  than  Joseph.  But  his  brethren 
hated  him  and  could  not  speak  peaceably  to  him— 
hated  him  so  intensely  that  they  were  willing  to  put 
him  out  of  the  way,  by  almost  any  method,  however 
cruel.  They  talked  with  one  another  about  him, 
painted  him  as  a  selfish,  proud  brother,  and  set  him  off 
in  the  most  odious  colors.  Having  a  bad  mind  towards 
him,  they  saw  only  bad  and  hateful  things  in  him 
But  the  bad  things  were  all  in  themselves,  not  in  him. 
His  only  crime  was  his  worth,  and  the  beauty  of  his 
spirit,  and  that  God,  on  this  account,  had  advanced 
him,  giving  him  the  precedence  his  character  deserved. 

So  with  Saul ;  the  devil  of  jealousy  creeps  into  his 
morbid,  selfish  heart,  and  he  sees  in  David,  the  faith- 
ful servant  of  his  throne,  a  scheming  usurper  only  and 
traitor,  waiting  to  vault  into  his  place.  He  is  wrought 
up  thus  to  such  a  pitch  of  fear  and  malice,  that,  in  one 
of  his  paroxysms,  he  hurls  a  javelin  at  his  head.     The 

27* 


818  THE     BAD     MIND 

evil  he  sees  in  David  is  really  in  Lis  o^^n  -wild,  ugly 
passion,  but  instead  of  strangling  that,  he  tries  to 
murder  him ! 

Equally  mad,  exceedingly  mad,  ahnost  conscien- 
tiously mad,  as  he  himself  relates,  was  Saul,  the  young 
rabbi  of  Tarsus,  though  in  a  different  vein.  The  fiery 
young  zealot  was  hot  against  Jesus,  hot  against  Stephen, 
hot  also  against  all  the  disciples  of  the  new  religion ; 
but  the  heat  of  his  passion  he  afterwards  discovered  was 
in  the  bad  fire  of  his  own  bad  mind,  and  the  miserable 
bigotry  that  possessed  him. 

It  is  also  a  fact  most  remarkable,  evincing  the  same 
thing,  that  Jesus  Christ,  the  only  spotless  and  perfect 
character  that  ever  breathed  the  air  of  our  planet,  was 
more  accused  and  hated,  and  charged  with  worse  crimes, 
than  it  ever  fell  to  the  lot  of  any  mortal  to  perpetrate. 
He  was  not  only  a  Samaritan  and  had  a  devil,  but  he 
cast  out  devils  by  a  devil,  he  broke  the  Sabbath,  he  was 
a  mover  of  sedition,  he  made  himself  equal  with  God, 
he  spoke  blasphemy,  he  was  a  conspirator  against 
Caesar,  his  silence  was  called  obstinacy,  his  eating  and 
drinking  gluttony  and  drunkenness,  his  cross  the  proof 
of  his  weakness  and  a  fit  mark  for  jeering,  his  death  his 
defeat  as  an  impostor  and  his  final  expulsion  from  the 
world.  And  yet  there  was  nothing  in  him  to  irritate 
or  anger  good  men.  His  life  was  beauty  itself,  his  spirit 
breathed  the  pure  benignity  even  of  God.  Yes,  and 
for  just  this  reason,  he  disturbed  the  bad  mind  of  men 
only  the  more  bitterly.  Troubled,  heated,  moved  with 
jealousy^  convinced  of  evil,  they  all  rushed  upon  him 


MAKES    A    BAD    ELEMENT.  819 

as  tlie  troubler;  becoming,  at  last,  so  exasperated 
against  him,  as  to  break  out — priests,  rabbis,  senators^ 
soldiers,  populace — crying,  all  with  one  voice,  crucify 
him,  crucify  him.  See  them  gathering  round  his  cross, 
hoar  their  coarse  mockeries  and  jeers!  the  poor  foola 
have  no  thought  or  suspicion,  that  they  are  raging,  in 
this  diabolical  malice,  against  exasperating  causes  that 
are  after  bII  in  themselves  1 

The  same  truth  is  continually  thrust  upon  our  ob- 
servation, in  the  intercourse  of  life.  The  passionate,  ill- 
natured  man  is  an  example,  living  always  in  stormy 
weather,  even  though  it  be  the  quiet  of  dew-fall  round 
him — always  wronged,  always  hurt,  always  complaining 
of  some  enemy.  He  has  no  conception  that  this  enemy 
is  in  his  own  bosom — in  the  sourness,  the  ungoverned 
irritability,  the  habitual  ill-nature  of  his  own  bad  spirit 
and  character.  I  speak  not  here  of  some  single  burst 
of  passion,  into  which  a  man  of  amiable  temper  may, 
for  once,  be  betrayed ;  but  I  speak,  more  especially,  of 
the  angry  characters — always  brewing  in  some  tempest 
of  violated  feeling.  They  have  a  great  many  enemies, 
they  are  unaccountably  ill-treated,  and  can  not  under- 
stand why  it  is.  They  have  no  suspicion  that  they  see 
and  suffer  bad  things  because  they  are  bad,  that  being 
ill-natured  is  about  the  same  thing  as  having  ill-treat- 
ment, and  that  all  the  enemies  they  suffer  from  are 
snugly  closeted  in  their  own  devilish  temper. 

The  same  is  true  of  fretful  persons — men  and  women 
that  wear  away  fast  and  die,  because  they  have  worried 
life  completely  out.     Nothing  goes  right;  husband,  oj 


320  THE    BAD    MIND 

wife,  or  child,  or  customer,  or  sermon.  They  are 
pricked  and  stung  at  every  motion  they  make,  and 
wonder  why  it  is  that  others  are  permitted  to  float  alon;^ 
so  peacefully,  and  they  never  suffered  to  have  a  moment 
of  peace  in  their  lives !  And  the  very  simple  reason  is 
that  life  is  a  field  of  nettles  to  them,  because  their  fret- 
ful, worrying  tempers,  are  always  pricking  out,  through 
the  tender  skin  of  their  uneasiness.  Why,  if  they  were 
set  down  in  Paradise,  carrying  their  bad  mind  with 
them,  they  would  fret  at  the  good  angels,  and  the  cli- 
mate, and  the  colors  even  of  the  roses. 

The  animosities  of  the  world  are  commonly  to  be 
solved  in  the  same  way — "Hateful  and  hating  one 
another."  A  purely  good  mind  would  not  hate  even 
the  worst  of  enemies  and  wrong-doers,  but  would  have 
a  sublime  joy  in  loving  him  still.  Thus  we  have  one 
kind  of  enmity  that  hates  differences  of  thought  and 
sentiment,  and  is  continually  rasped  by  the  fact  that 
other  men  are  so  generally  wrong-headed.  Commonly 
the  difficulty  is  prejudice,  or  bigotry  in  ourselves, 
reigning  as  a  narrow,  self-willed  principle  in  the  heart. 
Another  misery  we  suffer,  in  the  pride,  and  the  high 
airs,  and  the  ambition,  and  the  undeserved  successes  of 
others.  We  wish  there  was  some  justice  in  the  world, 
and  that  such  people  had  their  due !  This  now  is  envy 
In  the  soul,  green-eyed,  sick,  self- tormenting  envy. 
Then,  again,  we  have  it  as  another  form  of  .Tiisery,  that, 
having  injured  some  one,  we  for  that  reason  hate  him; 
and  there  is  no  hatred  so  implacable,  so  bitter,  and  so 
like  the  pain  of  hell,  as  that  which  a  man  has  to  one 


MAKES    A    BAD    ELEMENT.  321 

whom  be  "has  injured — not  to  one  who  has  injured  him, 
but  to  one  whom  he  has  injured  himself.  And  yet  he 
will  charge  it  not  to  himself,  but  only  to  the  unaccount- 
able fact,  that  the  object  of  his  malice  must  be  so  bad, 
so  unmitigably  hateful. 

So  again  in  regard  to  things  of  condition.  The  poor 
hypochondriac  is  just  ready  to  be  stranded  in  utter  pov- 
erty and  distress,  though  he  holds,  it  may  be,  millions  of 
property.  We  laugh  at  the  strange  fatuity  he  suffers. 
But  every  selfish  mind  is  in  it,  only  in  some  different 
way,  or  in  some  less  exaggerated  and  palpably  absurd 
form.  Thus,  what  care,  fear,  anxiety,  hunger,  eager- 
ness, is  there  in  the  world ;  and  the  secret  of  it  is,  that 
we  are  all  imagining  some  fault  in  our  condition.  We 
want  condition.  Our  thirsty,  weary,  discontented  soul 
finds  all  it  wants  of  blessedness  denied,  and  wonders 
why  it  is  that  God  has  given  us  such  a  miserable  desert 
to  live  in ;  as  if  the  desert  were  in  the  world  and  not  in 
ourselves — an  immense  Sahara  wider  than  Africa 
knows !  Why,  if  we  were  in  the  midst  of  God's  own 
paradise,  carrying  our  bad  mind  with  us,  we  should  see 
the  desert  there.  The  inward  dearth  and  desolation  of 
a  mind  separated  from  God  and  the  all-sufficing  rest  and 
fullness  of  his  peace,  would  raise  mutinous  questions 
and  harsh  accusations  of  dryness,  against  the  finest,  most 
superlative  felicity  God  has  ever  been  able  to  invent  for 
his  angels  themselves. 

Let  us  not  omit  to  notice  that  the  immoralities  and 
orivnes  of  the  world  are  commonly  conceived,  by  those 
who  are  in  them,  to  be  not  of  themselves,  but  to  be 


322  THE    BAD    MIND 

chargeable  on  the  bad  causes  round  them.  What  is 
more  continually  asserted  by  thieves  and  gamblers, 
than  the  maxim  that  the  world  owes  them  a  living; 
till,  finally,  they  half  teach  themselves  to  feel  that  the 
world  wrongs  them,  because  it  does  not  pay  what  it 
'owes,  but  requires  them  to  take  the  pay  as  they  may 
find  it.  Whereas  the  bottom  fact  of  all  is,  that  they 
hate  the  bad  necessity  of  work.  The  blasphemer, 
raging  in  a  storm  of  imprecations  and  swearing  by  all 
sacred  names — he  is  saying  inwardly,  even  if  no  one 
remonstrates  with  him,  how  can  I  help  it  ?  an  angel 
would  speak  some  bad  words,  if  he  had  such  a  horse  as 
this  to  manage,  or  such  a  neighbor  to  deal  with.  The 
poor  victim  of  drink — was  he  not  disinherited  by  his 
father?  or  broken  down  by  the  slanders  of  enemies?  or 
troubled  by  loads  of  debt  from  misfortunes  that  over- 
took him  ?  or  married  to  a  wife  who  was  a  perpetual 
thorn  to  his  peace?  Was  he  not  driven  by  the  bad 
world  somehow,  as  he  manages  to  think  himself,  into 
this  mode  of  drowning  his  misery?  And  so  of  the 
traitor  hatching  his  treason — whole  states  of  traitors 
hatching  public  treasons.  Listen  to  their  grievances — 
all  in  others,  none  in  themselves.  They  have  been  in- 
jured, or  insulted,  or  at  any  rate  they  were  going  to  be. 
They  are  hot  with  the  sense  of  injury  not  yet  arrived, 
and  must  have  their  redress !  Farewell  order !  welcome 
anarchy  and  blood!  What  an  example  of  human 
passion,  seeing  worlds  of  wrong  and  enmity  through 
the  smoke  of  its  own  guilty  jealousies,  and  the  rampani 
fury  of  its  own  domineering  habit. 


MAKES    A    BAD    ELEMENT.  823 

Sucli  is  human  nature  in  its  bad  estate  everywhere, 
No  sin  sees  its  own  evil ;  but  the  world  is  evil,  every- 
thing is  evil  to  it.  Even  truth  is  evil.  "Why  should 
the  preacher  come  to  us  with  so  many  unwelcome 
messages?  as  if  it  were  not  enough  to  be  dragged 
tr. rough  such  a  world  as  this,  without  being  disturbed 
all  the  way  by  hard  accusations !  It  may  be  that  we 
all  sin ;  but  the  circumstances  we  live  in  are  all  bad, 
and  what  do  we  do,  but  what  the  circumstances  make 
us?  Let  the  preacher  charge  upon  the  circumstances! 
When  they  are  not  really  angry  at  the  truth,  how  many 
hearers  dislike  it.  Little  conception  have  they  that  the 
badness  of  the  sermon  is  in  themselves — "  Say  we  not 
well,  thou  art  a  Samaritan  and  hast  a  devil  ?" 

The  subject  I  have  now  endeavored  to  illustrate  is  it- 
self a  purely  practical  subject,  and  yet  a  great  many 
practical  things  beside  are  opened  by  it,  that  do  not 
seem,  at  first,  to  be  included.     And — 

1.  It  puts  in  a  sad  light  of  evidence  what  may  well 
enough  be  called  the  weak  point  of  Christianity ;  viz., 
the  fact  that  the  souls  to  be  saved  will  be  always  seeing 
themselves  in  it,  and  not  seeing  it  as  it  is — turning  it 
thus  into  an  element  as  dry  as  their  dryness,  as  bitter 
as  their  bitterness,  as  distasteful  and  oppressive  as  their 
own  weak  thraldom  under  sin.  And  so  it  turns  out 
that  Christ  is  dry,  bitter,  a  hard  yoke,  any  thing  but 
what  he  is.  0,  what  po-wer  would  there  be  in  his  love, 
and  beauty,  and  divine  greatness,  if  it  were  not  for  this. 
The  grand  difficulty  in  the  way  of  a  general  conversion 


824  THE    BAD    MIND 

is,  that  the  bad  minds  of  the  world  so  immediately  con 
vert  the  gospel  into  their  own  figure.  Christ  is  to  them 
a  root  out  of  a  dry  ground,  having  no  form  or  comeli- 
ness, and  no  beauty  to  be  desired — they  turn  away 
their  faces,  he  is  despised  and  not  esteemed.  And  what 
does  he  propose,  in  their  view,  but  to  make  them  like 
himself,  laying  it  upon  them  also  to  be  roots  out  of  a 
dry  ground,  even  as  they  are  to  follow  him  in  self- 
denial,  self-sacrifice,  and  bearing  the  cross.  "These 
you  propose  to  us,"  they  say,  "for  our  allotment;  and 
what  shall  we  have  after  we  have  sacrificed  ourselves  in 
this  manner,  and  given  up  even  our  souls  to  the  perdi- 
tion of  righteousness?"  Every  good  and  great  thing 
offered  is  discolored  from  the  bad  color  of  their  own 
bad  state.  And  so  the  perpetual  danger  is,  that  what 
is  given  for  their  life,  will  be  only  a  savor  of  death. 
Even  the  liberty  of  Christ  appears  to  be  only  a  way  of 
thraldom — how  can  they  imagine  that  the  only  real 
liberty  of  mind  is  the  liberty  of  being  in  the  truth,  and 
the  only  possession  of  self  the  loss  of  self  in  God  ?  And 
so  it  comes  to  pass  that  our  gospel — mighty,  gracious, 
captivating  enough,  we  might  think,  to  make  an  easy 
conquest  of  the  world — dwindles  sadly  and  gets  fatally 
stifled,  because  it  can  not  be  to  men's  eyes,  what  it 
really  is  in  itself.  It  can  not  be  the  salvation  it  would; 
just  because  a  salvation  is  wanted. 

It  used  to  be  frequently  taught  that  men  have  no 
susceptibility  that  can  be  acted  on  by  the  go?pol,  save 
in  a  way  of  revulsion;  that  they  must  be  only  more 
exasperated  by  it,  the  more  powerfully  they  a^e  made 


MAKES    A    BAD    ELEMENT.  o25 

to  feel  it.  No,  the  difficulty  commonly  is  tliat  tliey 
project  their  own  bad  state  into  it,  so  as  to  almost  shut 
away  the  feeling  of  it.  As  far  as  they  do  feel  it  they 
are  drawn  by  the  beauty  of  it — sometimes  powerfully 
drawn — but  alas!  how  soon  is  it  discolored  by  their 
own  turbid  state,  and  the  power  it  was  going  to  have 
sul^sides  into  weakness. 

2.  We  here  perceive  what  is  the  true  value  of  condition. 
I  do  not  blame,  of  course,  a  proper  attention  to  condition — 
it  is  even  a  duty.  But  the  notion  that  we  are  really  to 
make  our  state  as  bad  or  good  by  the  surroundings  of  life, 
and  not  by  what  is  within  us,  not  only  violates  the  scrip- 
ture counsel,  but,  quite  as  palpably,  the  dictates  of  good 
sense — it  is  in  fact  the  great  folly  of  man.  For  a  bad 
mind  is  of  necessity  its  own  bad  state,  and  that  state 
will  be  just  as  bad  as  the  man  is  to  himself,  neither 
more  nor  less,  come  what  may.  A  bad  temper,  a  wrong 
love,  an  ungoverned  pride,  a  restive  ambition,  a  fretful, 
irritable,  discontented  habit  within — why  if  a  man  had 
a  den  of  vipers  within,  they  would  not  make  a  state  for 
Dim  more  absolutely  than  these.  The  surroundings  of 
condition  are  to  the  man  what  the  cloak  is  to  the  body, 
and  the  man  who  hid  the  fox  under  his  cloak  and 
hugged  him  close,  till  he  gnawed  into  his  vitals,  might 
as  well  have  been  thinking  to  be  happy  because  of  his 
cloak,  as  any  bad  soul  to  be  happy  in  sin  because  of 
condition.  O,  that  men  could  be  so  far  disenchanted  of 
this  devil  that  possesses  their  understanding,  as  to  see 
how  certain  it  is  that  their  condition,  after  all,  is  what 
thej  are  themselves ;  that  it  can  be  only  bad  as  long  as 

28 


326  '        1  HE    BAD    MIND 

tbej  are  bad,  even  if  all  the  riches  and  power  and 
splendor  of  the  world  were  laid  at  their  feet ;  and  can 
be  only  good,  if  good  is  the  spirit  and  the  inward  ele- 
ment of  their  life.  Toil  on,  0  ye  slaves,  contrive,  and 
strive,  and  thrust  yourselves  on  to  riches  and  power; 
and  then,  at  the  end,  discover  that  you  have  onlj'  gilded 
your  misery,  and  built  you  a  condition  of  more  splendid 
sorrow;  embittering  bitterness  by  the  mockery  you 
offer  to  its  comfort.  Still  you  will  see  without,  just 
what  you  are  within,  and  the  curse  that  is  in  you  will 
curse  every  thing  round  you.  The  down  you  sleep  on 
will  be  hard  as  your  heart  is,  the  silk  that  robes  you 
will  be  a  vesture  of  nettles  to  your  ugly  tempers,  the 
coach  in  which  you  ride  will  answer  to  the  jolting, 
night  and  day,  of  your  bad  conscience  and  your  un- 
*3teady,  gusty  passions.  If  the  bad  state  is  in  you,  then 
every  thing  is  bad,  the  internal  disorder  makes  all 
things  an  element  of  disorder — even  the  sun  in  the  sky 
will  be  your  enemy. 

8.  We  discover  in  this  subject,  what  opinion  to  hold 
of  the  meaning  and  dignity  of  the  state  sometimes 
called  misanthropy.  Misanthropy  is  the  state  of  mind 
that  distastes  men,  the  world,  and  life,  and  withdraws 
itself,  more  or  less  completely,  into  a  feeling  of  self- 
justifying  and  self-isolating  enmity.  It  is  the  senti- 
mental state  of  wickedness,  or  wicked  feeling,  and  is 
more  common  to  youth  than  to  persons  of  a  later  age. 
For  some  reason  they  are  not  happy ;  they  begin  to 
sympathize  with  themselves;  they  imagine  how  bad 
men  are,  and  dislike  them  because  they  are  selfish,  or 


MAKES    A    BAD    ELEMENT.  82" 

proud,  or  unjust  to  merit;  they  disapprove  the  scheme 
of  life,  it  is  s'ich  a  miserable  affair,  an  experience  so 
dull  and  so  generally  contemptible;  they  read  Lord 
Byron,  steeping  their  souls  in  his  poetic  hate,  and 
specially  sympathizing  with  the  truculent  sentiment  of 
his  Cain,  retiring  Cain-like,  as  it  were,  into  the  felicity 
of  a  self-justifying  malice,  to  look  out  upon  the  world 
and  curse  it.  Now  the  bottom  of  their  woe,  if  they 
could  dispossess  themselves  of  a  little  vanity,  is  that 
they  are  bad  themselves.  If  they  have  such  a  hatred 
of  men,  are  they  not  men  themselves?  and  is  it  not 
probable  enough  that  they  have  some  as  good  title  to 
distaste  themselves  ?  Is  there  not  another,  in  the  next 
house,  or  chamber,  who  is  hating  men,  disgusted  with 
men,  just  as  they  are?  This  very  foolish  state  of  mind 
has  one  legitimate  cure,  and  one  that  is  true  reason 
itself,  viz.,  couviction  of  sin.  As  soon  as  they  can  pass 
on  just  one  step  farther,  and  see  that  what  they  so  much 
distaste  is  themselves,  and  that  all  the  badness  of  the  bad 
world  is  in  their  own  bad  spirit,  they  are  in  a  way  to 
come  at  the  true  remedy.  Accordingly  it  is  in  just 
this  manner  that  the  Holy  Spirit  often  leads  to  Christ. 
The  man  begins  to  be  sick  and  weary,  sick  in  mind  and 
so  in  body,  for  a  full  half  of  the  sicknesses  of  the  body 
are  only  distempers  of  the  mind ;  the  world  palls  and 
grows  distasteful;  he  sympathizes  with  himself,  in  a 
manner  of  inward  complaint,  draws  off  from  that  which 
does  not  satisfy,  and  loosens  a  kind  of  sentimental  ani- 
mosity towards  men  and  things.  But  the  load  grows 
heavier,  chafing  through  the  skin  of  his  conceit  into  the 


828  THE    BAD    MIND 

nerves  of  conviction;  misanthropy  changes  to  self- 
disgust  ;  the  secrets  of  the  heart  are  opened ;  the  con- 
science breaks  restraint;  and  finally  it  stands  revealed 
that  sin  is  in  the  soul — a  bondage,  a  disease,  a  shame,  a 
curse.  And  now  the  question  is  who  can  heal  the  in- 
ward bitterness?  Misanthropy,  then,  and  world  sick- 
ness are  the  bad  state  felt,  conviction  of  sin  is  the  bad 
state  understood.  That  is  a  conceited  misery,  this  the 
shame  of  a  self-discovering  weakness,  guilt,  and  spiritual 
disorder. 

4.  It  is  clear,  in  this  subject,  that  we  have  little 
reason  for  troubling  ourselves  in  questions  that  relate 
to  a  place  of  future  misery.  Enough  to  know  that  the 
mind  is  its  own  place,  and  will  make  a  place  of  woe  to 
itself,  whithersoever  it  goes,  in  a  life  of  sin  and  separa- 
tion from  God.  If  the  sceptic  bolts  upon  us  with  the 
question,  where  is  hell?  or  the  question,  whether  we 
suppose  that  a  God  of  infinite  goodness  has  occupied 
himself  in  excavating  and  fashioning  a  local  state  for 
the  torment  of  bad  men  ?  it  is  enough  to  answer  that 
a  bad  mind  carries  a  hell  with  it,  excavates  its  own 
place  of  torment,  makes  it  deep  and  hot  as  with  fire, 
and  will  assuredly  be  in  that  place,  whatever  else  may 
be  true.  A  good  mind  sits  in  heavenly  places,  because 
it  is  good.  Go  where  it  will  it  is  with  God,  and  God  is 
templed  eternally  in  it;  God  in  his  own  everlasting 
beatitude  and  peace.  Exactly  what  is  true  of  place 
beyond  this,  or  of  place  as  related  to  the  condition  of 
nappy  spirits,  we  do  not  know,  but  shall  know  here- 
after.    Enough  that  the  bad  mind  will  at  least  be  its 


MAKES    A    BAD    ELEMENT.  329 

Dwn  bad  state  and  elemcDt.  It  has  the  fire  and  brim- 
stone in  itself,  and  the  sufFocating  smoke,  and  the  dark- 
ness, and  the  thirst,  and  the  worm  that  never  dies — 
testifying  always,  "  I  myself  am  Hell."  It  would  turn 
the  golden  pavement  into  burning  marl,  and  the  hymns 
and  hallelujahs  of  the  blessed  into  shrieks  of  discord. 

Finally,  it  is  evident  in  these  illustrations,  that  the 
salvation  of  man  is  possible,  only  on  the  ground  of  a 
great  and  radical  change  in  his  inmost  temper  and 
spirit.  What  is  wanted  for  the  felicity  of  man  is  clearly 
not  a  change  of  place,  or  condition,  but  a  change  in  that 
which  makes  both  place  and  condition  what  they  are. 
The  bad  spirit — this  is  the  woe ;  and  nothing  cures  tue 
woe,  but  that  which  changes  the  spirit  of  the  mind. 
Marvel  not  at  this ;  you  have  only  to  take  one  glance 
at  the  world,  turn  one  thought  upon  yourselves,  to  see 
it.  Hence  it  is  that  Christ  has  come  into  the  world  as 
the  physician  of  souls — it  is  that  he  may  impart  to  them 
a  new  life  and  spirit  from  himself,  and  heal  the  disorders 
of  their  bad  state,  by  uniting  them  to  his  own  person. 
Think  it  not  strange  that  he  proposes  thoughts  to  you 
so  different  from  your  own.  0,  ye  weary  ones,  all  ye 
desolate,  all  ye  tossed  with  tempest  and  not  comforted, 
all  ye  world-sick  and  heavy  hearted,  hear  ye  his  call — 
"  {;ome  unto  me  and  I  will  give  you  rest."  Why,  my 
friends,  what  does  it  mean  that  we  are  such  a  malcontent, 
miserable  race  of  beings?  Did  not  a  good  God  make 
us  and  the  world  we  live  in?  Why  then  are  we  so 
continually  plagued  and  tormented  in  it?  Why  so 
>i angry,  so  dry,  so  empty,  so  bitter,  so  like  the  troubled 

28* 


830  THE    BAD    MIND,    ETC. 

sea  and  the  mire  and  dirt  it  casts  up  in  its  storms  ?  Has 
God  made  some  mistake  in  mixing  the  ingredients  of 
our  state  ?  No,  it  is  we  that  make  all  this  discord,  we 
that  mix  in  the  acrid  ingredients  of.miser}^  The  mo- 
ment you  can  enter  back,  out  of  sin,  into  this  pure  ele- 
ment of  love  in  Christ,  this  world  becomes  a  realm  of 
peace,  a  paradise  of  beauty,  a  feast  of  satisfying  good, 
an  instrument  of  joyous  harmony.  Change  the  inward 
state  and  all  is  changed.  Ye  shall  go  out  with  jo}^,  and 
be  led  forth  with  peace,  the  mountains  and  the  hills 
shall  break  forth  before  you  into  singing,  and  all  the 
trees  of  the  hills  shall  clap  their  hands. 


XVI. 

PRESENT  RELATIONS  OF  CHRIST  WITH  HIS  FOLLOWERS. 


^^Ye  have  heard  how  I  said  unto  you^  I  go  away  and 
come  again  unto  you^ — John"  xiv,  28. 

To  go  awaj  and  come  again,  or  to  go  away  in  order 
to  come  again,  would  seem,  taking  the  words  at  their 
face,  to  be  a  rather  idle  or  unmeaning  operation ;  but  if 
we  can  get  far  enough  into  the  mind  of  Christ  to  appre- 
hend his  real  meaning,  we  shall  find  that  he  is  propos- 
ing, in  these  words,  a  change  of  the  greatest  conse- 
quence— a  change  that  is  necessary  to  the  working 
plan  of  his  gospel  and  even  to  the  complete  value  of  his 
incarnation  itself.  In  what  sense  then  he  is  going,  and 
in  what  sense  he  will  come  again,  what  change  of  rela- 
tionship he  will  inaugurate  between  himself  and  his 
followers,  and  so  what  kind  of  personal  relation  he  under- 
takes to  hold  with  them  now^  is  the  subject  to  which  I  call 
your  attention  this  morning,  as  one  of  intense  practical 
interest,  and  even  of  the  tenderest  personal  concern. 

Whoever  has  reflected  much  upon  the  subject  ot  the 
iiicarnation  has  discovered  that  its  value  depends  on 
brevity  of  time,  and  that  no  such  condition  could  be 
permanent,  without  becoming  a  limitation  upon  itself 


832  PKESENT    RELATIONS    OF    CHRIST 

and  a  real  hindrance  to  its  own  objects.  Eemaining 
permanently  on  earth  in  the  bod}^,  Christ,  plainly 
enough,  could  never  have  extended  his  rule  into  parta 
remote,  or  to  persons  debarred  by  distance  from  tha 
external  modes  of  access  and  acquaintance.  The  incar- 
nation, therefore,  requires  shortly  to  be  inverted. 
After  the  immense  new  revelation,  or  new  salvation,  of 
God  has  been  accomplished,  by  such  a  manifested  pres- 
ence and  divine  life  in  the  flesh,  there  needs,  just  as 
truly,  to  be  a  withdrawment  from  the  eyes ;  otherwise 
Christ,  remaining  in  the  world  and  permanently  fixed 
in  it,  could  only  gather  a  small  circle  about  him,  and 
become  the  center  of  an  outward  Lama  worship,  as  re- 
stricted as  the  mere  sight,  or  appearing,  of  the  divine 
man -idol  requires  it  to  be. 

Therefore  he  says — "  it  is  expedient  for  you  that  I  go 
away,"  adding  the  promise — "I  will  come  to  you." 
He  means,  by  this,  that  the  time  has  now  arrived,  when 
there  must  be  a  change  of  administration;  when  he 
must  needs  be  taken  away  from  the  eyes,  and  begin  to 
be  set  in  a  new  spiritual  relation,  which  permits  a  uni- 
versal access  of  men  to  him,  and  a  universal  presence 
of  him  with  them — so  a  grand,  world-wide  kiugdom. 
Saying  nothing  of  the  particular  objects  to  be  gained  by 
his  death,  he  could  not  stay  here  and  carry  on  his 
work ;  he  had  as  many  friends  now  as  he  could  speak 
with,  or  allow  to  speak  with  him ;  and  if  he  should  re- 
main, holding  fixed  locality,  as  of  a  body  in  space,  ha 
could  be  the  head  only  of  a  coterie,  never  of  a  kingdom. 
What  is  wanted  now  is  an  unlocalized,  invisible,  spirit- 


WITH     HIS    FOLLOWERS.  333 

ually  present,  everywhere  present,  Saviour;  such  as  all' 
may  know  and  receive,  being  consciously  known  and 
received  by  him. 

And  this  will  be  his  coming  again,  or  his  second 
coming — such  a  kind  of  coming  as  shows  him  bearing 
rule  in  Providence,  and  riding  in  the  clouds  of  heaven — 
rolling  OQ  the  changes,  unfolding  the  destinies  of  time, 
and  preparing  his  universal  kingdom.  The  world,  he 
says,  seeth  me  no  more,  but  ye  see  me;  and  having 
your  spiritual  eye  open  for  this,  it  will  be  as  if  you  saw 
me  coming  triumphantly  in  the  clouds.  This  image  is 
a  well-known  Eastern  figure  of  princely  pomp  and 
majesty ;  they  say  of  every  great  monarch,  taking  as- 
cendancy, that  he  rides  on  the  clouds  of  heaven.  So, 
as  Christ  comes  on,  bearing  sway  and  ruling  invisible, 
it  will  be  as  if  he  were  seen  coming  on  overhead,  in  the 
clouds.  And  especially  will  this  be  felt  when  Jerusa- 
lem the  Holy  City  is  blotted  out,  as  it  were  by  God's 
hand  of  judgment  upon  it,  in  the  conquest  by  Titus. 
By  that  sign  goes  out  the  old,  exclusive  Jew-state;  and 
there  comes  in  after  it,  now^  to  have  its  place,  the  Chris- 
tian, catholic,  free  state,  that  is  to  be  gathered  under 
the  universal,  spiritual  headship  of  Christ.  That  gath- 
ering in,  as  in  power,  is  to  be  his  coming,  or  coming 
again — no  bodily  appearing,  no  visible  pomp,  no  mani- 
festation locally  as  in  space;  for  the  very  thing  that 
made  it  expedient  for  him  to  go  away  from  the  senses, 
forbids  any  such  outward  manifestation.  And  therefore 
he  adds  a  caution,  telling  his  disciples  expressly,  that 
his   coming  thus   again  is  not  to   be  a  coming  with 


B84:    PRESENT  RELATK  NS  OF  CHRISl 

observation.  There  shall  be  no  calling  "Lo,  here  is 
Christ,  or  lo,  there,"  "behold  he  is  in  the  desert,"  "behold 
he  is  in  the  secret  chambers."  The  power  in  which  he 
comes  will  be  morally  diffusive  and  secretly  piercing — 
"  as  the  lightning  cometli  out  of  the  east  and  shineth 
even  unto  the  west,  so  also  shall  the  coming  of  the  Son 
of  Man  be." 

In  all  which  Christ,  you  will  perceive,  is  proposing 
to  do  exactly  nothing  which  many  of  his  disciples, 
specially  taken  by  the  faith  of  his  second  coming,  so 
fervently  preach  and  so  earnestly  magnify.  They 
believe  that  he  is  to  come  in  a  body,  and  be  visible  as 
in  body.  He  will  of  course  be  here  or  there  in  space, 
a  locally  present  being,  at  some  particular  geographic 
point — Jerusalem,  or  London,  or  Kome,  or  going  about 
in  all  places  by  turns.  Hearing  now  that  he  is  here, 
or  there,  we  shall  think  no  more  of  seeing  him  by  faith, 
and  begin  to  think  of  seeing  him  with  our  eyes.  Every 
ship  that  sails  will  be  crowded  with  eager  multitudes 
pressing  on  to  see  the  visible  Christ.  Thronging  in 
thus,  month  by  month,  a  vast  seething  crowd  of  pil- 
grims, curious  and  devout,  poor  and  rich,  houseless  all 
and  hungry,  trampling  each  other,  many  of  them  sick, 
not  one  of  them  in  the  enjoyment  truly  of  God's  peace, 
not  one  of  a  thousand  getting  near  enough  to  see  him, 
still  fewer  to  hear  him  speak — how  long  will  it  take 
under  such  kind  of  experience  to  learn  what  Christ  in- 
tended and  the  solid  truth  of  it,  when  he  said — "  it  is 
expedient  for  you  that  I  go  away."  Nothing  could  be 
more   inexpedient,  or  a  profounder  affliction,   than    a 


WITH    HIS    FOLLOWERS.  335 

locally  descended,  permanently  visible,  Saviour.  How 
much  better  a  Saviour  present  everywhere,  and  at  all 
times;  a  Saviour  who  can  say,  "Lo,  I  am  with  you  al- 
ways," and  make  the  promise  good;  one  whom  the 
heart  can  know,  as  being  at  rest  in  him,  and  behold,  as 
by  faith ;  wheeling  his  chariot  on  through  all  the  tu- 
mults and  overturnings  of  time,  till  his  universal  king- 
dom is  complete. 

I  am  well  aware  that  our  brethren,  who  look  for 
Christ's  visible  coming,  will  not  allow  the  inconven- 
iences, or  almost  absurdities,  I  have  here  sketched,  to 
be  any  proper  results  of  their  doctrine.  "  We  believe," 
they  will  say,  "that  he  will  come  in  a  spiritual  body, 
such  as  he  had  after  his  resurrection,  not  in  a  coarse, 
material  body.  It  will  be  such  a  body  that  he  can  be 
here,  or  there,  at  any  given  moment,  hampered  by  no 
conditions  of  space;  even  as  he  came  into  the  room 
where  his  disciples  were  gathered,  when  the  doors  were 
shut."  But  they  only  impose  upon  themselves  by  such 
a  conception.  If  their  spiritual  body  is  to  be  visible,  it 
must  be  as  in  space  and  outward  appearing ;  for  that  is 
the  condition  of  all  visibility.  And  then  we  have  a 
flitting  Saviour,  breaking  out  here  or  there,  at  what 
time,  or  on  what  occasion,  no  mortal  can  guess.  And 
the  result  will  be  that  they  are  in  a  worse  torment  than 
they  would  be,  if  he  were  established  in  some  known 
locality.  Going  after  their  eyes,  they  are  taken  off 
from  all  faith,  and  where  their  eyes  shall  find  him  they 
know  not. 

Pardon  me  then  if  I  suggest  the  suspicion  that  they 


336  PRESENT    RELATIONS    OF    CHRIST 

are  more  carnal  in  tlieir  expectation  than  they  know. 
If  it  is  so  much  better  to  have  a  visible  Saviour,  are 
they  not  more  weary  of  faith  than  they  should  be,  and 
secretly  longing,  catching  at  straws  of  prophecy,  to  get 
away  from  it?  There  is  nothing,  I  must  frankly  say, 
that  would  be  so  nearly  a  dead  loss  of  Christ  to  any 
disciple  who  knows  him  in  the  dear  companionship  of 
faith,  as  to  have  him  come  in  visible  show ;  either  set- 
ting up  his  reign  at  some  geographic  point,  or  reigning 
aerially,  in  some  flitting  and  cursitating  manner  which 
can  not  be  traced.  How  beautifully  accessible  is  he 
now  everywhere,  present  to  every  heart  that  loves  him , 
consciously  dear,  as  friend,  consoler,  guide,  and  stay,  in 
all  conditions ;  close  at  hand  in  every  sinking  ship  in  the 
uttermost  parts  of  the  sea ;  the  sweet  joy  of  dungeons 
under  ground,  where  there  is  no  light  to  see  him  in  a 
body ;  immediately  and  ail-diffusively  present,  to  com- 
fort every  sorrow,  support  every  persecution,  and 
even  to  turn  away  the  tempting  thought  before  it 
comes.  A  Saviour  in  the  body  and  before  the  eyes 
can  serve  no  such  of&ces.  Kone  can  find  him,  but 
them  that  come  in  his  way,  or  chance  to  spy  him  with 
their  eyes. 

We  have  no  want  then  of  a  locally  related,  that  is  of 
a  bodily  resident  Saviour;  we  perceive,  without  diffi- 
culty, the  expediency  of  which  Christ  speaks,  that  he 
should  go  away  and  not  continue  the  incarnate,  or  visi- 
ble state,  longer  than  to  serve  the  particular  objects  for 
which  he  assumed  that  state.  But  he  gives  us  to  un- 
derstand, that  he  is  not  going  to  be  taken  utterly  away 


WITH    HIS    FOLLOWERS.  837 

in  the  proposed  removal,  but  rather  to  be  as  much 
closer  to  his  disciples  as  he  can  be,  when  all  conditions 
of  time  and  space  are  cast  off.  And  accordingly  the 
question  rises  at  this  point,  how  is  Christ  related  now  to 
the  knowledge  and  friendship  of  his  people?  "Ye 
ijave  heard  how  I  said  unto  you  I  go  away  and  come 
again  unto  you."  And  again — "I  will  not  leave  you 
comfortless,  I  will  come  to  you."  And  again — "but 
ye  see  me."  And  again — "Lo,  I  am  with  you  always." 
He  evidently  means  to  put  himself  thus  in  a  practically 
close  and  dear  relation  with  his  people — what  is  thai 
relation?  how  set  open?  how  maintained? 

Obviously  what  we  want  ourselves,  is  to  be  somehow 
with  him,  and  to  know  that  he  is  with  us.  We  want  a 
social,  consciously  open  state  with  him,  as  real  as  if  he 
were  with  us  bodily,  and  as  diffusive  as  if  he  were 
everywhere ;  thus  to  have  a  personal  enjoyment  of  him, 
and  rest  in  the  felt  sympathies  of  his  personal  compan- 
ionship. This,  too,  exactly  is  what  he  means  to  allow 
us ;  not  in  the  external  way,  but  in  a  way  more  imme- 
diate, and  blessed,  and  evident,  and  as  much  more  ben- 
eficial. If  we  had  him  with  us  in  the  external  way,  as 
his  own  disciples  had,  when  they  journeyed,  and  talked, 
and  eat,  and  slept,  in  his  company,  we  should  be  living 
altogether  in  our  eyes,  and  not  in  any  way  of  mental 
realization.  And,  as  a  result,  we  should  not  be  raised 
and  exalted  in  spiritual  force,  or  character,  as  we  spe- 
cially need  to  be.  What  we  want,  therefore,  is  to  have 
a  knowledge  of  him,  and  presence  and  society  with  him, 
that  we  can  carry  with  us,  and  have  as  the  secret  joy, 

29 


388  PRESENT    RELATIONS    OF    CHRIST 

and  streDgth,  and  conscious  blessing  of  our  inmost  life 
itself;  that  we  may  see  him,  when  we  are  blind  and  can 
see  nothing  with  our  eyes ;  that  we  may  hear  him  speak, 
when  we  are  deaf  and  can  hear  nothing  with  our  ears; 
that  we  may  walk  with  him,  when  we  can  not  walk  at 
all ;  sit  in  heavenly  places  with  him,  when  we  can  not 
sit  at  all;  rise  with  him  when  he  rises,  reign  with  him 
when  he  reigns;  never  away  from  him,  even  when 
beyond  the  sea,  or  passing  through  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death. 

Now  it  is  just  this  relation  that  he  undertakes  to  fill, 
when  he  goes  away.  Being  himself  a  Comforter,  [Par- 
aclete,] for  this  is  the  word  translated  Advocate,  he 
promises  "another  Comforter;"  that  is,  in  some  proper 
sense,  another  self  Indeed,  he  really  calls  the  Com- 
forter promised,  another  self;  for  he  says  expressly,  in 
this  very  connection — "Even  the  Spirit  of  truth,  whom 
the  world  can  not  receive  because  it  seeth  him  not; 
neither  knoweth  him,  but  ye  know  him ;  for  he  dwell- 
eth  with  you  and  shall  be  in  you ;"  striking  directly 
into  the  first  person,  to  say  the  same  thing  over  again, 
as  relating  to  himself — "  Yet  a  little  while  and  the  world 
seeth  me  no  more,  but  ye  see  me ;  because  I  live,  ye 
shall  live  also.  At  that  day  ye  shall  know  that  I  am 
in  my  Father,  and  ye  in  me,  and  I  in  you."  And  then, 
to  be  still  more  explicit,  he  gives  the  promise,  that  who- 
soever of  his  followers  follows  faithfully,  keeping  his 
commandments,  shall  have  the  immediate  manifestation 
always  of  his  presence — "  I  will  manifest  myself  unto 
him," — "  If  a  man  love  me  he  will  keep  my  words,  and 


WITH    HIS    FOLLOWERS.  339 

my  Father  will  love  him,  and  we  will  come  unto  hira 
and  make  our  abode  with  him." 

The  great  change  of  administration  thus  to  be  inti'o- 
duced,  by  the  going  away  and  coming  again,  includes 
several  points  that  require  to  be  distinctly  noted. 

1.  That  Christ  now  institutes  such  a  relationship  be- 
tween him  and  his  followers,  that  they  can  know  him 
when  the  world  can  not.  Before  this,  the  world  had 
known  him  just  as  his  disciples  had,  seeing  him  with 
their  eyes,  hearing  his  doctrine,  observing  his  miracles, 
but  now  he  is  to  be  withdrawn,  so  that  only  they  shall 
see  him — "  the  world  seeth  him  not."  As  being  rational 
persons,  they  may  recollect  him,  they  may  read  other 
men's  recollections  of  him,  but  his  presence  they  will 
not  discern,  he  is  not  manifest  unto  them,  but  only  to 
his  followers.  He  that  loveth  knoweth  God,  and  he 
only. 

2.  It  is  a  point  included  that  the  new  presence,  oi 
social  relationship,  is  to  be  effected  and  maintained  by 
the  Holy  Spirit,  the  Comforter.  And  he  it  is  that 
Christ,  in  the  promise,  calls  so  freely  himself  The  New 
Testament  writings  are  not  delicate  in  maintaining  any 
particular  formula,  or  scheme  of  personality,  as  regards 
the  distributions  of  Trinity.  They  call  the  Spirit  "  the 
Spirit  of  Christ."  They  say,  "  God  hath  sent  the  Spirit 
of  his  Son  into  your  hearts."  They  speak  of  "the  su|)- 
ply  of  the  Spirit  of  Jesus  Christ."  They  speak  also  of 
"  the  law  of  the  Spirit  of  life  in  Christ  Jesus."  They 
Bay,  "  the  Lord  [Christ]  is  that  Spirit."     Christ  also  is 


840  PRESENT    RELATIOXS    OF    CHRIST 

shown,  more  than  once,  fulfilling  the  official  functions 
of  the  Spirit ;  as  in  Paul's  conversion,  where  the  invisi- 
ble  Christ,  that  is  the  Spirit,  sajs  "I  am  Jesus  of  Kaza- 
reth  whom  thou  persecutest ;  or  again,  when  Paul  him 
self  describes  his  conversion  by  sa3nng,  "  when  it  pleased 
God  to  reveal  his  Son  in  me."  No  theologic  scruples 
are  felt  in  such  free  modes  of  expression,  and  indeed 
there  never  should  be ;  for  to  every  one  but  the  strict 
tritheist,  Christ  must,  in  some  sense,  be  the  Spirit,  and 
the  Spirit,  Christ.  And  when  Christ  calls  the  Comforter 
he  promises,  himself,  he  gives  precisely  the  best  and 
truest  representation  of  the  Spirit,  in  his  new  office, 
possible  to  be  given.  It  is  to  be  as  if  the  disincarnated 
soul,  or  person  of  Christ,  were  now  to  go  away  and 
return  as  a  universal  Spirit  invisible ;  in  that  form  "  to 
abide  forever."  And  the  beauty  of  the  conception  is, 
that  the  Spirit  is  to  be  no  mere  impersonal  effluence,  or 
influence,  but  to  be  with  us  in  the  very  feeling  and 
charity  of  Jesus.  All  the  fullness  of  Christ  is  in  him ; 
the  gentleness,  the  patience,  the  tenderness,  the  self- 
sacrifice  ;  all  that  makes  Jesus  himself  such  a  power  of 
personal  mastery  in  us.  He  is  to  be  with  us  in  Christ's 
name  as  a  being  with  a  heart,  nay,  to  be  the  heart  itself 
that  was  beating  in  the  Son  of  Mary.  All  the  charities, 
and  even  the  blessed  humanities  of  Jesus  are  to  be  in 
him,  and,  in  fact,  to  be  ministered  socially,  and  socially 
manifested  by  him ;  even  as  Christ  expressly  declared-  - 
"  He  shall  glorify  me ;  for  he  shall  receive  of  mine  and 
show  it  unto  you."  This  inward  showing  is,  in  fact, 
the  virtuality  of  Christ.     He  will  be  to  the  soul  all  thai 


WITH    HIS    FOLLOWERS.  841 

Christ  liimself  would  wisli  to  be ;  for  he  loves  the  world 
with  Christ's  own  love.  He  will  be  as  forgiving  a3 
Christ  in  his  passion,  as  tenderly  burdened  as  Christ  in 
his  agony,  as  really  present  to  physical  suffering,  as 
truly  a  Comforter  to  all  the  shapes  of  human  sorrow. 
All  which  Christ  outwardly  expressed,  he  will  inwardly 
show. 

3.  In  this  coming  again  of  Christ  by  the  Spirit,  there 
is  included  also  the  fact  that  he  will  be  known  by  the 
disciple,  not  only  socially,  but  as  the  Christ,  in  such  a 
way  as  to  put  us  in  a  personal  relationship  with  him, 
even  as  his  own  disciples  were  in  their  outward  society 
with  him.  "  Ye  shall  know  that  I  am  in  the  Father,  and 
ye  in  me,  and  I  in  you."  "  But  ye  know  him."  "  But 
ye  see  me."  Many  persons  appear  to  suppose  that  the 
Holy  Spirit  works  in  a  manner  back  of  all  consciousness, 
and  that  there  is  even  a  kind  of  extravagance  in  the  disci- 
ple who  presumes  to  know  him.  And  so  it  really  is,  if 
the  conception  is  that  he  knows  him  by  sensation,  or  by 
inward  phantasy.  But  what  means  the  apostle  when 
he  says — "  the  Spirit  itself  beareth  witness  with  our 
Spirit  that  we  are  the  children  of  God"?  That  bearing 
witness  with  imports  some  kind  of  inward  society,  or 
interchange,  in  which  a  divine  testimony  flows  into 
human  impression,  or  conviction,  else  it  imports  nothing. 
Tlie  real  Christian  fact  in  regard  to  this  very  important 
subject  appears  to  be,  that  the  Holy  Spirit,  or  Spirit  of 
Christ,  though  not  felt  by  sensation,  or  beheld  by  men- 
tal vision,  is  yet  revealed,  back  of  all  perception,  in  the 
consciousness.     We  are  made  originally  to  be  conscious 

29* 


S42  PRESENT    llELATIONS    OF    CHRIST 

of  God,  just  as  wc  a.re  of  ourselves,  and  know  liim  hy 
that  immediate  light.  Tliis  is  our  normal  state  and  it 
is  now  so  far  restored.  Our  finite  beina:  was  to  be  com- 
plete  in  the  infinite,  and  apart  from  that,  could  only  be 
a  poor  dead  limb,  or  broken  fragment,  worthless  to  it- 
self. And  this  accordingly  is  the  wonder  of  a  true  re- 
ligious experience  begun,  that  the  soul,  awakened  to  the 
consciousness  of  God,  not  knowing  how,  has  a  certain 
mysterious  feeling  of  otherness  imparted,  which  is  some- 
how a  new  element  to  it — a  pure,  inwardly  glorious, 
free  element.  By  and  by  it  gets  acquainted  with  the 
new  and  glorious  incoming,  and  dares  to  say,  it  is 
Christ,  it  is  God.  A  whole  side  of  the  nature  turning 
Godward  thus,  and  before  closed,  is  now  open,  and  the 
man  is  even  more  impressively  conscious  at  times  of  the 
divine  movement  in  his  feeling,  than  of  his  own.  And 
this  fulfills  the  promise — "I  will  manifest  myself  unto 
him."  A  promise  which  Paul  bravely  answers,  when 
he  says,  out  of  his  own  conscious  experience — "  Christ 
liveth  in  me," — "  who  loved  me  and  gave  himself  for 
me." 

Here  then  is  the  relationship  we  seek — Christ  is  so 
related  now,  to  the  soul  of  them  that  receive  him,  that 
he  is  present  with  them  in  all  places,  at  all  times,  bear- 
ing witness  with  their  spirit,  in  guidance  and  holy 
society ;  a  friend,  a  consoler,  a  glorious  illuminator,  all 
that  he  would  or  could  be,  if  we  had  him  each  to  him 
sdf  in  outward  company.  Yes,  and  he  is  more  than 
this ;  for  if  we  simply  had  him  in  such  outward  com- 
pany, the  contrast  perceived  would  be  even  mortifying 


WITH    HIS    FOLLOWERS.  843 

and  oppressive ;  but  now,  as  he  comes  np  from  within, 
through  our  personal  consciousness  itself,  we  are  raised 
in  dignity,  and  have  him  as  the  sense  of  a  new  and 
nobler  self  unfolded  in  us.  O,  what  a  footing  is  this  for 
a  mortal  creature  to  occupy,  an  open  relationship  with 
Christ  and  Grod,  in  which  it  shall  receive  just  all  which 
it  wants,  being  consciously  girded  with  strength  foi 
whatever  it  has  to  do,  patience  for  suffering,  wisdom 
for  guidance.  His  very  nature  is  penetrated  by  a 
higher  nature,  and,  being  spirit  to  Spirit,  he  moves  in 
the  liberty  of  that  superior  impulse  and  advisement. 
His  relationship  to  Christ  is  that  of  the  branch  to  the 
vine,  and  the  presence  that  he  has  with  Christ  is  imme- 
diate, vital,  and  if  he  will  suffer  it,  perpetual.  Its 
whole  gospel  in  one  view  it  has  in  the  promise — "  Lo,  I 
am  with  you  always,  even  to  the  end  of  the  world." 

But  there  is  a  different  conception  of  this  whole 
matter,  which  I  must  briefly  notice.  Many  persons  ap 
pear  to  assume,  that  we  have,  and  can  have,  no  relations 
to  Christ,  more  immediate  than  those  which  we  have 
through  language  aud  the  understanding.  The  Spirit, 
they  say,  works  by  truth,  and  only  as  the  truth  gets 
power  in  our  thoughts  and  choices.  Their  conception 
is  that  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  God,  except  as  we 
get  hold  of  notions,  or  notional  truths,  concerning  him — 
reported  facts,  for  example,  and  teachings,  and  doctrinal 
deductions.  Undoubtedly  we  are  to  have  this  notional 
furniture  in  the  understanding,  but  it  is  never  "to  be  a 
fence  between  us  and  God,  requiring  us  to  know  him 
only  at  second  hand,  as  we  know  China  by  the  repor* 


844  PRESENT    RELATIONS    OF    CHRIST 

of  the  geographers.  We  are  still  to  know  God,  oi 
Christ,  by  our  immediate  experience;  nay,  to  know  him 
as  we  know  ourselves,  by  consciousness.  It  is  useful 
for  us  to  know  ourselves  scientifically,  intellectually,  ^-e- 
flectively ;  but  this  kind  of  artificial  self-knowledge  is 
not  enough.  Some  of  us,  in  that  way,  would  scarcely 
know  ourselves  at  all,  and  none  of  us  more  than  par- 
tially, intermittently,  and  in  spots.  We  want  to  know 
ourselves  all  the  while,  and  without  study,  so  as  to  be 
all  the  while  possessing  and  going  along  with  ourselves, 
and  therefore  we  are  gifted  with  an  immediate  con- 
sciousness of  ourselves.  But  we  want,  just  as  much,  to 
know  God  by  this  immediate  and  perpetual  knowledge ; 
for  apart  from  God  we  are  nothing,  we  do  not  even  half 
exist.  Our  finite  existence  becomes  complete  existence, 
only  as  we  are  complete  in  him,  and  this  we  can  not 
be,  save  as  he  is  manifested,  or  participated,  by  our 
consciousness.  Thus  we  might  have  our  advantage  in 
a  notional,  or  scientific  conception  of  the  atmosphere, 
but  if  we  could  breathe  only  by  such  scientific  self- 
regulation,  many  of  us  would  stop  breathing  entirely, 
and  all  of  us  wo  aid  be  gasping  for  air  a  great  part  of  the 
time ;  what  we  want  is  a  continual  fanning  of  the  brea.h 
that  shall  keep  the  air  at  work,  feeding  our  life  all  the 
time,  without  intermission,  and  without  any  kind  of 
notional  self-regulation.  So,  too,  we  want  a  perpetual 
inbreathing  of  God,  a  witnessing  of  the  divine  Spirit 
with  our  spirit,  else  our  very  nature  is  abortive  and 
worthless.  It  is  not  enough  that  we  have  notions,  oi 
doctrines,  of  God,  which  we  may  use,  or  apply,  to  obtaiD 


WITH    HIS    FOLLOWERS.  845 

flavors  of  good  effect  thrcugh  sucli  media — we  want  the 
immediate  manifestation  of  God  himself.  And  then,  lest 
we  should  sink  away  into  the  abysses  and  trances  of 
contemplation,  with  Plotinus  and  others  who  struggle 
out  vaguely  into  and  after  the  infinite,  we  have  the  in- 
finite humanly  personated  in  Christ ;  so  that,  instead  of 
wandering  off  into  any  abysses  at  all,  we  simply  let  tho 
Son  of  Man  be  God  in  our  feeling,  and  fashion  us  in  the 
molds  of  his  own  humanly  divine  excellence.  Christ 
we  say  liveth  in  us ;  and  therefore  by  the  faith  of  the 
Son  of  God,  we  live. 

But  is  not  this  a  kind  of  mysticism,  some  will  ask, 
better  therefore  to  be  avoided  than  received?  I  hardly 
know  what  is  definitely  meant  by  the  question  ;  unless 
perhaps  it  be  that  a  word  is  wanted  that  will  serve  the 
uses  of  a  stigma.  A  great  many  will  begin  to  suspect 
some  kind  of  mysticism,  just  because  they  are  mystified, 
or  misted,  and  see  things  only  in  a  fog  of  obscurity. 
But  if  this  be  mysticism,  nothing  is  plainer  than  that 
Christ  is  the  original  teacher  of  it,  and  his  two  disciples, 
John  and  Paul,  specially  abundant  teachers  of  it  after 
him.  Every  man  is  a  mystic  in  the  same  way,  who 
believes  that  Christ  is  the  Life — in  such  a  sense  the  life 
that  he  truly  liveth  in  his  followers,  and  giveth  them  to 
live  by  him.  God  as  the  Life,  the  all-quickener,  the 
all-mover  and  sustainer,  the  inward  glory  and  bliss  of 
souls — this  may  be  set  down  as  a  thing  too  high  to  be 
any  but  a  mystical  notion.  And  yet  all  highest  things 
are  apt  to  be  most  rational,  and,  at  bottom,  most  credible. 
What  can  be  more  rational,  in  fact,  than  to  think  that 


64,6  PRESENT    EELATIONS    OF    CHRIST 

God  will  give  us  most  certainly  what  is  most  wanted- 
water,  and  ligbt,  and  air,  and  yet  more  freel}^,  Himself? 
He  will  not  put  us  off  to  know  only  things  about  him, 
truths,  notions,  items  of  fact,  but  will  give  us  to  know 
Himself.  And  since  all  souls  are  dark,  living  only  to 
grope,  without  him — poor,  blind  pilgrims,  straying  on 
the  shores  of  eternity — what  will  he  do,  what,  in  all  true 
reason,  must  he  do,  but  make  himself  the  true  sunrising 
to  them,  and  the  conscious  revelation  of  their  inward  day. 
Our  answer  then  to  the  question  what  are  Christ's 
present  relations  to  his  followers?  is  that  he  is  present 
to  them  as  he  is  not,  and  can  not  be  to  the  world ;  pres- 
ent as  an  all-permeating  Spirit;  present  as  the  all- 
quickening  Life ;  consciously,  socially  present ;  so  that 
no  explorations  of  science,  or  debates  of  reason  are 
wanted  to  find  him,  no  going  over  the  sea  to  bring  him 
back,  or  up  into  heaven  to  bring  him  down ;  because 
he  is  already  present,  always  present,  in  the  mouth  and 
in  the  heart.  In  this  manner  tie  will  be  revealed  in  all 
men,  waits  to  be  revealed  in  all,  if  only  they  will  suffer 
it.  The  word  for  every  loving,  trusting  heart  is,  "I 
will  come  unto  you,  I  will  be  manifest  in  you.  Lo,  I 
will  be  with  you  always." 

But  the  answer  at  which  we  thus  arrive  is  a  purely 
spiritual  answer,  you  perceive,  one  that  is  real  and  true 
only  as  it  is  opened  to  faith,  and  experimentally  proved. 
But  all  such  spiritualities  waver  and  flicker  ;  we  are  too 
much  in  the  senses  to  hold  them  constantly  and  evenly 
enough  to  rest  in  them.     Therefore  to  keep  us  in  the 


WITH    HIS    FOLLOWERS.  847 

raiig(.'  cf  tliis  relationship,  God  has  contrived  to  fasten 
us  in  tlie  sense  of  it,  and  make  it  good,  by  two  fixed, 
partly  outward  institutes,  that  are  to  stand  as  forts,  ot 
f'-^rtrcsses,  in  the  foreground  of  it ;  viz.,  by  the  church 
and  by  the  sacraments. 

"Behold  the  kingdom  of  God  is  within  you,"  says 
the  Saviour,  meaning  that  he  will  be  there,  and  there 
will  have  his  reign.  But  he  also  lays  the  foundations 
of  a  great,  perpetual,  visible  institute,  that  he  names  the 
church,  calling  it  to  be  the  light  of  the  w^orld,  even  as 
he,  in  the  body,  was  the  light  of  the  world  himself,  and 
because  he  is  now,  in  the  Spirit,  to  be  entered  into  and 
fill  the  body  of  the  church  with  light.  His  apostle 
calls  it  too  "  the  pillar  and  ground  of  the  truth,"  because 
it  is  to  be  that  corporate  body  that  never  dies,  receiving 
the  written  word  as  a  deposit  and  trust  for  all  ages  to 
come,  and  becoming  itself  a  living  epistle,  answering 
faithfully  to  it,  and  shedding,  from  its  own  luminous 
property,  a  perpetual  light  of  interpretation  upon  it. 
Of  this  body,  called  the  church,  he  is  to  be  the  Head 
himself,  and  all  the  members  joined  together  in  him, 
are  to  be  so  related  to  him  as  to  make  a  virtually  real, 
and  perpetually  diffusive,  incarnation  of  him  in  the 
world.  While,  therefore,  it  was  expedient  for  him  to  go 
away  as  the  Son  of  Man,  or  of  Mary,  it  was  yet  to  be 
found,  as  he  comes  again  by  revelation  to  the  conscious- 
ness of  his  disciples,  that  he  is  again  taking  body,  in 
fact,  for  all  time,  in  them ;  so  to  be  manifested  organi- 
cally, ani,  as  it  were,  instituted  in  their  undying  and 
corporate  membership — "  Head  over  all  things  to  the 


848  PRESENT    RELATIONS    OF    CHRIST 

churcli  which  is  his  body,  the  fullness  of  him  that  iilletb 
all  in  all."  The  members  are  to  know  him  personally^ 
each  in  his  own  immediate  life,  and  then  thej  are  to 
know  him  again  even  the  more  firmly,  that  they  are 
consciously  instituted  and  framed  into  body  by  his  life. 
Jt  is  to  be  as  if  their  divine  consciousness  itself  were 
certified,  and  sealed,  and  made  visible,  by  its  own  or- 
ganizing power — that  power  which  ages  and  times  can 
not  weaken,  which  outlives  the  kingdoms  and  their 
persecutions,  and  defies  the  gates  of  hell.  "From 
whence  the  whole  body,  fitly  joined  together  and  com- 
pacted by  that  which  every  joint  snpplieth,  according 
to  the  effectual  working  in  the  measure  of  every  part, 
maketh  increase  of  the  body  unto  the  edifying  of  itself 
in  love."  What  solidity  is  there  now  in  such  a  relation 
to  Christ !  Spiritual  as  the  relation  is,  it  is  yet  even  more 
intellectually  fixed,  and  carries  better  evidence,  than 
Christ  in  the  body  was  ever  able  to  give  his  followers. 

But  the  spiritualities  of  the  relation  Christ  maintains 
with  his  disciples  were  to  be  settled  and  fortified  by 
still  another  institute ;  I  mean  the  sacraments,  and  es- 
pecially the  sacrament  of  the  Holy  Supper.  The  very 
object  of  the  supper  appears  to  be  the  settlement,  and 
practical,  or  experimental,  certification  of  that  revelation 
to  consciousness,  of  which  we  have  been  speaking. 
'  This  is  my  body,  take  and  eat."  "  This  is  my  blood, 
drink  ye  all  of  it."  And  this,  to  establish,  as  by  insti- 
tute, the  fact  that  Christ  here  present,  is  to  be  commu- 
Qicated  and  received,  as  by  nutrition,  or  as  life.  And 
this  is  what  is  meant  by  discerning  his  body,  and  tho 


WITH    HIS    FOLLOWERS.  319 

showing  forth  of  his  death ;  for  there  is  to  be  an  accept- 
ing, in  the  partaker,  of  his  here  represented  embodiment 
and  a  confession  of  trust  in  his  death,  to  which  he  will, 
by  these  instituted  symbols  and  pledges,  be  inwardlj? 
discovered,  as  certainly  and  as  often  as  the  rite  is  dul}' 
observed.  When,  therefore,  he  says,  "  this  do  in  remem- 
brance of  me,"  we  are  not  to  take  his  words  in  the 
lightest,  shallowest  possible  meaning,  as  if  he  were  only 
giving  us  a  mnemonic  to  refresh  our  memories,  but  in 
the  deepest  and  most  sacredly  inward  sense;  viz.,  that 
he  is  giving  it  to  us  here,  to  receive  the  dearest  hospi- 
tality, the  communion  of  his  own  divine  Life.  All  that 
famous  discourse  of  his  about  the  bread  and  the  blood, 
in  the  6th  chapter  of  John,  is  but  the  fit  opening  of  his 
meaning.  "I  am  the  bread  of  life — the  living  bread 
that  came  down  from  heaven — if  any  man  eat  of  this 
bread  he  shall  live  forever.  My  flesh  is  meat  indeed,  and 
my  blood  is  drink  indeed.  Except  ye  eat  the  flesh  of  the 
Son  of  Man  and  drink  his  blood,  ye  have  no  life  in  you." 
And  this  exactly  is  the  great  institute  of  the  supper. 
Christ  engages  to  be  present  in  it,  by  a  most  real  pres- 
ence, without  a  miracle  of  transubstantiation ;  so  tha,t 
when  we  come  to  offer  to  him  ourselves,  and  open  our 
inmost  receptivities  to  the  appropriation  of  his  presence, 
it  is  no  vague,  volunteer,  possibly  presumptuous  thing 
that  we  do,  as  if  venturing  on  some  almost  aerial  flight, 
in  the  way  of  coming  unto  God,  but  we  have  the  grace 
by  institution,  firmly  pledged,  and  given,  as  it  were,  by 
routine.  Here  is  Christ  to  be  communicated.  Here 
aie  we  to  commune.     There  is  no  miracle,  but  what  if 

80 


350 

a  great  deal  better,  viz.,  life;  commnnity  of  life  witt 
Christ  and  God.  What  we  get  in  the  conscious  reve- 
lation of  his  Spirit,  we  here  receive  by  an  outward  and 
perpetual!}^  instituted  dispensation.  And  we  have  this 
communion  also  with  each  other  as  with  Christ ;  because 
he  is  the  common  life,  which  is  endeavoring  always  a 
common  growth  in  the  members. 

O,  that  we  might  receive  this  supper  to-day,  my 
brethren,  according  to  its  true  meaning,  and  eat  and 
drink  worthily.  Take  it  as  no  mere  commemorative 
ceremony  over  Christ  dead,  but  as  the  appointed  vehicle 
of  Christ  living,  and  in  you  to  live.  Come  not  here  to 
be  sad  and  sit  mourning  for  your  Master's  body,  like 
the  women  weeping  for  Tammuz.  Consider,  above  all, 
this,  that  Christ,  once  dead,  is  here  alive,  that  he  may 
here  dispense  himself  to  you.  Blessed  is  the  heart  that 
shall  be  fully  opened  to  him.  Be  that  true,  as  it  may 
be,  of  you  all ;  that  you  may  go  forth  loving  one  another 
as  you  love  your  Master,  and  shining  without,  by  the 
light  he  gives  you  within.  Neither  forget  how  that 
open,  dear  relation  of  spirit  with  him,  of  which  we  have 
been  speaking,  is  here  sanctioned  publicly  for  you,  and 
sanctified  before  you,  even  as  by  an  institute  of  God. 
As  he  has  gone  awa}^,  so  believe,  henceforth  and  always, 
that  he  has  come  again.  Count  this  coming  in  the 
Spirit  to  be  with  you,  dearer  than  even  outward  society 
with  him  would  be,  such  as  his  disciples  had  at  the  first; 
and  expect  to  be  always  with  him  in  this  manner,  in  the 
closest,  most  immediate  knowledge;  even  as  he  said 
himself— BUT  ye  see  me. 


XVII. 

THE  WRATH   OF   THE  LAMB, 


^^And  said  to  the  mountains  and  rochs^  Fall  on  us  and 
hide  us  from  the  face  of  Mm  that  sitteth  on  the  throne^  and 
from  the  wrath  of  the  Lamb.  For  the  great  day  of  his 
wrath  is  come  ;  and  who  shall  he  able  to  stand  F" — Rev.  vi, 
16-17. 

The  lamb  is  the  most  simply  innocent  of  all  animals. 
Historically  also  it  had  become  a  name  for  sacrifice. 
For  this  twofold  reason,  Christ  is  set  forth  as  the  Lamb. 
Under  this  name,  as  fulfilling  the  conception  of  gentle- 
ness and  sacrifice  in  God,  we  give  him  ready  welcome. 
We  magnify  him  as  the  Lamb,  and  expect  to  magnify 
him  even  eternally,  in  ascriptions  offered  to  that  dear 
name.  Even  such  as  are  most  remote  from  the  life  of 
religion  are  commonly  satisfied  with  conceptions  of  God 
under  this  gentle,  patient  figure ;  making  up,  not  seldom, 
schemes  of  divine  character  and  order,  that  have  only 
the  innocuous  way  of  tbe  lamb — just  as  thousands  of 
the  devotees  of  liberty  will  magnify  liberty,  as  being 
the  whole  substance  of  government ;  counting  it  really 
the  same  thing  as  a  release  from  being  governed.  Yet 
liberty  is  but  justice  secured;  and,  in  just  the  same 
manner,  the  Lamb  is  but  the  complemental  gentleness 
of  God's  judicial  vigor. 


852  THE    WRATH    OF    THE    LAMB. 

All  whicli  appears  to  be  represented  by  a  most  para- 
doxical, jarring  combination  of  words,  that  predicates 
wrath  of  the  very  lambhood  of  Christ.  To  speak 
simply  of  the  wrath  of  God  is  bad  enough  to  some ;  it  is 
even  a  real  offense.  They  recoil  from  such  expressions 
as  unworthy,  and  as  indicating,  either  a  degree  of  irreve- 
rence in  those  who  use  them,  or  else  low  ideas  of  God, 
such  as  may  not  be  revolted  by  the  ascription  of  a  tem- 
per so  unregulated  and  so  essentially  coarse.  It  is 
commonly  no  sufficient  answer  to  such,  that  the  scrip- 
tures of  God  speak  of  his  wrath  in  this  way  without 
compunction ;  for  the  scriptures,  they  will  suspect,  are 
not  as  far  refined  themselves,  in  the  moral  tastes  and 
proprieties,  as  they  might  be.  But  here  we  have  "the 
wrath  of  the  Lamb ;" — which  not  only  violates  a  first 
principle  of  rhetoric,  forbidding  the  conjunction  of  sym- 
bols that  have  no  agreement  of  kind  or  quality,  but  also 
shocks  our  cherished  conceptions  of  Christ,  as  the  suf- 
fering victim,  or  the  all-merciful  and  beneficent  friend, 
in  either  way,  the  Saviour  of  sinners.  Who  will  evei 
speak  of  a  lamb's  wrath?  Who,  much  more,  of  the 
wrath  of  the  Lamb  of  God  ?  And  yet  the  scripture 
does  it  without  any  sense  of  impropriety,  or  moral  in- 
congruity— what  shall  we  make  of  such  a  fact  ? 

Simply  this,  I  answer,  that  while  our  particular  age 
is  at  the  point  of  apogee  from  all  the  more  robust  and 
vigorous  conceptions  of  God  in  his  relation  to  evil ; 
while  it  makes  nothing  of  God  as  a  person  or  govern- 
ing will ;  less,  if  possible,  of  sin  as  a  wrong-doing  by 
subject  wills  ;  we  are  still  to  believe  in  Christianity,  and 


THE    WRATH    OF    THE    LAMB.  853 

not  in  the  new  religion  of  nature;  in  Christ,  and  not  in 
the  literary  gentlemen.  It  does  not,  in  mj  view,  re- 
quire a  very  great  degree  of  nerve  to  do  this.  Only  we 
must  have  the  right  to  believe  in  the  real  Christ,  and 
not  that  theologic  Christ  which  has  so  long  been  praised, 
as  it  were  into  weakness,  by  the  showing  that  separates 
him  from  all  God's  decisive  energies  and  fires  of  com- 
bustion, and  puts  him  over  against  them,  to  be  only  a 
pacifier  of  them  by  his  suffering  goodness.  Our  Christ 
must  be  the  real  king — Messiah — and  no  mere  victim ; 
he  must  govern,  have  his  indignations,  take  the  regfvl 
way  in  his  salvation.  His  goodness  must  have  fire  and 
fibre  enough  to  make  it  divine. 

We  take  the  principle,  in  brief,  without  scruple,  thai 
if  we  can  settle  luliat  is  to  he  understood  hy  the  wrath  of 
Godj  we  shall  not  only  find  the  wrath  in  God^  hut  as  much 
more  intensely  revealed^  in  the  incarnate  life  and  ministry 
of  Christy  as  the  love  is,  or  the  patience,  or  any  other  char- 
acter of  God.  Since  he  is  the  Lamb,  in  other  words,  the 
most  emphatic  and  appalling  of  all  epithets  will  have 
its  place,  viz., — the  wrath  of  the  Lamb. 

We  want  very  much,  in  English,  a  word  that  we 
have  not,  to  express  more  definitely  the  true  force  of 
the  original  scripture  word  [op/*)]  occurring  in  this  rela- 
tion. We  have  a  considerable  family  of  words  that  we 
can  employ  for  this  purpose ;  such  as  ivrath,  anger^  in- 
dig ]ia lion,  fury,  vengeance,  judgment,  justice,  and  the  like, 
but  they  are  all  more  or  less  defective.  Indignation  is 
the   most   unexceptionable,    but   it   is   too   prosy   and 

30* 


354  THE    WRATH    OF    THE    'a.AMB. 

weak  to  carry  such  a  meaning  with  due  effect.  Wrath 
is  the  term  most  commonly  used  in  our  translation,  and 
it  is  really  the  best,  if  only  we  can  hold  it  closely 
enough  to  the  idea  of  a  moral,  in  distinction  from  a 
merely  animal  passion;  else,  failing  in  this,  it  will  con- 
nect associations  of  unregulated  temper  that  are  painful, 
and  as  far  as  possible  from  being  sacred.  It  requires  in 
this  view,  like  the  safetj^-lamps  of  the  miners,  a  gauze 
of  definition  round  it,  to  save  it  from  blazing  into  an 
explosion  too  fierce  to  serve  the  purposes  of  light. 

We  understand  then  by  wrath,  as  applied  to  Grod 
and  to  Christ,  a  certain  principled  heat  of  resentment 
towards  evil-doing  and  evil-doers,  such  as  arms  the 
good  to  inflictions  of  pain,  or  just  retribution,  upon 
them.  It  is  not  the  heat  of  revenge,  girding  up  itself 
in  fiery  passion,  to  repay  the  personal  injuries  it  has 
suffered ;  but  it  is  that  holy  heat  which  kindles  about 
order,  and  law,  and  truth,  and  right;  going  in,  as  it 
were,  spontaneously,  to  redress  their  wrongs  and  chas- 
tise the  injuries  they  have  suffered.  It  is  that,  in  every 
moral  nature,  which  prepares  it  to  be  an  essentially 
beneficent  avenger,  a  holy  knight-errant  champion  for 
the  right,  and  true,  and  good.  It  can  be  let  in  to  nerve 
a  resentment,  or  to  bitter  a  grudge,  and  commonly  is,  in 
souls  given  up  to  resentments  and  grudges ;  but  it  was 
ordained  specially  to  be  such  an  equipment  of  moral 
natures,  that  goodness  would  be  an  armed  state,  capable 
not  only  of  beneficence,  but  of  inflicting  pain  where 
pain  is  wanted,  in  the  fit  vindication  of  order  and  right. 

How  it  works,  we  may  see,  almost  every  hour,  io 


THE    WRATH    OF    THE    LAMB.  855 

some  example  greater,  or  less,  in  its  magnitude.  Only 
to  see  a  large  boy  in  the  street  harassing  and  persecuting 
a  small  one,  stirs  the  natural  wrath-principle  in  us,  in 
such  a  manner  that,  if  we  do  not  actually  lay  hands  upon 
him  ourselves,  we  could  easily  be  much  satisfied  if  a 
considerable  chastisement  should  overtake  him.  So,  if 
an  officer  of  the  law  arrests  a  woman  in  the  street,  hal- 
ing her  away  to  justice,  you  will  see  a  multitude,  ex- 
cited by  her  outcries,  rushing  quickly  together,  wanting 
to  know  what  a  strong  man  can  be  doing  in  that  fashion 
with  a  woman,  and  about  half  ready  to  interfere^  before 
they  have  learned  whether  it  is  a  case  of  oppression  or 
not.  We  had  an  illustration,  a  few  days  ago,  of  this 
wrath-principle  in  human  bosoms,  on  a  much  grander 
scale — the  whole  New  England  people,  or  rather  the 
whole  nation  itself,  waiting,  as  it  were,  by  the  gallows 
of  a  Webster,  and  giving  their  spontaneous  sanction  to 
his  death,  by  their  emphatic  and  hearty  Amen.  Under 
the  solemn  wrath-principle  of  which  I  am  here  speak- 
ing, every  healthy  and  robust  soul  took  the  penalty  with 
appetite,  and  with  a  certain  good  revenge,  stood  stiff 
and  firm  by  the  impartial  and  righteous  sentence  of  the 
law.  So  if  this  great  and  awful  rebellion  against  which 
we  are  now  in  arms,  should  finally  collapse  and  go 
down,  and  the  friends  of  Union,  so  long  and  bit- 
terly oppressed  by  their  tyrants,  should  rise  upon  then* 
and  drag  them  to  summary  justice,  compelling  them  to 
expiate,  by  their  death,  the  most  terrible  and  bloodiest, 
and  really  most  impious,  crime  ever  committed  on  earth, 
save  the  crucifixion  of  Jesus  itself,  who  of  us  would 


B56  THE    WRATH    OF    THE    LAMB. 

blame,  or  in  the  least  regret,  the  judicial  severity  of  the 
retribution?  Why,  the  unspeakable  desolations,  the 
latitudes  and  longitudes  of  the  woe,  would  even  take  on 
a  smile,  in  our  thought,  and  we  should  find  ourselves 
thanking  God,  even  before  we  knew  it,  that  he  has  put 
a  wrath-principle  in  human  bosoms  for  the  avenging  of 
so  great  a  crime.  Nay,  we  should  be  quite  willing  to 
imagine  this  wrath-principle  residing  also  in  the  very 
ground  itself,  and  crying  unto  God,  from  every  blood- 
sodden  field  and  region,  even  as  the  blood  of  Abel  did, 
in  Cain's  one,  solitary,  merely  initial,  comparatively  in- 
significant murder. 

In  all  these  and  similar  examples  that  could  be  cited 
without  number,  there  is,  jou  perceive,  a  function  of 
wrath,  or  an  instinctively  vindicatory  function,  that 
pertains  to  all  moral  natures,  and  arms  them  to  be  the 
supporters  of  justice  and  the  avengers  of  wrong.  They 
have  this  high  moral  instinct,  or  function,  not  as  a  vice 
to  be  extirpated  or  stifled,  but  as  an  integral  part  of 
their  inmost  original  nature.  It  is  constituent,  consub- 
stantial,  and  is  to  be  eternal. 

Having  distinguished,  in  this  manner,  what  is  to  be 
understood  by  wrath,  as  predicated,  whether  of  God  or 
of  the  Lamb,  we  are  ready  to  proceed  with  the  main 
subject  of  inquiry.  Is  it  then  a  fact  that  Christ,  as  the 
incarnate  Word  of  God,  embodies  and  reveals  the  wrath- 
principle  of  God,  even  as  he  does  the  patience  or  love- 
principle,  and  as  much  more  intensely  ?  On  this  point 
we  have  manv  distinct  evidences.     And — 


THE    WRATH    OF    THE    LAMB.  357 

1.  It  is  very  obvious,  at  the  outset,  that  Christ  can 
not  be  a  true  manifestation  of  God,  when  he  comes  in 
half  the  character  of  God,  to  act  upon,  or  qualify,  or 
pacify,  the  other  half.  He  must  be  God  manifest  in  the 
flesh,  and  not  one  side  of  God.  If  only  God's  affec- 
tional  nature  is  represented  in  him,  then  he  is  but  a 
half  manifestation.  And  if  we  assign  him,  in  that 
character,  a  special  value,  then  we  say,  by  implication, 
what  amounts  to  the  worst  irreverence,  that  God  is  a 
being  to  be  most  desired  when  he  is  only  half  presented, 
and  when  his  other  half  is  either  kept  back,  or  somehow 
smoothed  to  a  condition  of  silence.  I  take  issue  with 
all  such  conceptions  of  Christ.  He  is  God  manifested 
truly,  God  as  he  is,  God  in  all  his  attributes  combined, 
else  he  is  nothing,  or  at  least  no  fair  exhibition.  If  the 
purposes  of  God,  the  justice  of  God,  the  indignations 
of  God,  are  not  in  him ;  if  any  thing  is  shut  away,  or 
let  down,  or  covered  over,  then  he  is  not  in  God's  pro- 
poitions,  and  does  not  incarnate  his  character. 

2.  It  will  be  noted  that  Christ  can  be  the  manifested 
wrath  of  God,  without  being  any  the  less  tender  in  his 
feeling,  or  gentle  in  his  patience.  If  God  may  fitly 
comprehend  these  opposite  poles  of  character,  so  also 
may  Christ;  and  if  the  fires  of  God's  retril)utive  indig- 
nations are  no  contradiction  to  the  fact  that  he  is  love, 
no  more  is  there  any  such  contradiction  to  be  appre- 
hended, when  these  indignations  are  displayed  in  Christ. 
Indeed  we  have  occasions  in  the  history  of  Jesus,  when 
he  actually  displays  the  judicial  and  the  tender,  most 
affectingly,  together  and  in  the  very  same  scene.     ''And 


358  THE    WRATH    OF    THE    LAMB. 

when  lie  had  looked  about  on  them  with  anger,"  says 
Mark,  "being  grieved  for  the  hardness  of  their  hearts." 
Here  we  have  the  wrath,  [o^yn]  in  a  connection  of  feel- 
ing so  tender  and  loving,  that  he  is  even  grieved.  His 
indignations  have  quickened  his  more  tender  sensibili- 
ties, and  these,  in  turn,  have  fired  his  indignations. 
And  we  have  exactly  the  same  conjunction  over  again, 
when  we  find  him  even  weeping  over  Jerusalem,  and, 
at  the  same  moment,  denouncing  against  it,  in  stern 
retribution,  the  day  of  its  final  visitation.  "  If  thou 
hadst  known  the  things  that  belong  to  thy  peace !  but 
now  they  are  hid  from  thine  eyes !"  How  tenderly,  and 
yet  how  firmly  spoken  is  the  wrath.  And  then,  while 
the  tears  of  his  compassion  are  scarcely  dried  away  upon 
his  face,  he  goes  directly  into  the  temple  and  drives  out, 
in  a  terrible  outburst  of  indignant  zeal,  the  whole  crowd 
of  hucksters  and  traders  that  have  made  even  that 
sacred  place,  to  his  pure  feeling,  no  better  than  a  den 
of  thieves.  His  tears  did  not  extinguish  his  wrath,  and 
his  wrath  did  not  stifle  the  tenderness  that  issued  in 
tears. 

Indeed  these  two  poles  of  sensibility,  wrath  and  tender 
love,  are  not  only  compatible ;  I  must  go  farther  and 
say,  that  the  tenderest,  purest  souls  will,  for  just  that 
reason,  be  hottest  in  the  wrath-principle,  where  any 
bitter  wrong,  or  shameful  crime,  is  committed.  They 
take  fire  and  burn,  because  they  feel.  Furthermore 
you  will  observe  that  the  man  whose  dull -hearted 
phlegm  keeps  prudent  silence,  utters  no  condemnation, 
burns  with  no  indignant  fire,  when  some  wicked  cruelty 


THE    WRATH    OF    THE    LAMB.  359 

or  oppression  is  perpetrated,  is,  in  almost  every  case, 
deficient  in  the  finer,  nobler,  and  more  tender  sympa- 
thies. His  cold,  apathetic,  politic,  sour  nature  is  just 
about  as  defective  in  the  gentle  sensibilities,  as  it  is  in 
the  fiery  and  strong  impulses. 

8.  It  is  another  and  distinct  consideration  that  God, 
without  the  wrath-principle,  never  was,  and  Christ  never 
can  be^  a  complete  character.  This  element  belongs  in- 
herently to  every  moral  nature.  God  is  no  God  with- 
out it,  man  is  no  man  without  it.  Take  it  away  from 
God  and  he  is  simply  Brama,  a  mere  Fate,  or  Infinite 
Thing — no  Governor  of  the  world,  but  an  ideal,  in  the 
neuter  gender,  of  the  True  and  the  Good ;  a  Beauty 
that  lies  in  sweet  lassitude  on  the  world,  for  literary  souls 
to  make  a  religion  of,  for  themselves.  Take  it  away 
from  man,  and  he  is  only  paste,  or,  at  best,  an  animal ; 
for  though  animals  have  the  capacity  of  brute  passion, 
or  infuriated  excitement,  yet  that  moral  passion  or  vin- 
dicatory instinct,  of  which  we  are  now  speaking,  they 
as  little  share  as  they  do  the  instinct  of  language,  or 
that  of  scientific  inquiry.  They  have  no  moral  ideas, 
and  of  course  have  no  moral  armature  of  wrath  to  set 
them  on  the  side  of  moral  ideas,  and  steel  them,  as  in 
principled  resentment,  to  be  avengers  of  the  same.  Now 
it  is  this  principled  wrath,  in  one  view,  that  gives  starai- 
nal  force  and  majesty  to  character.  It  is  in  this  princi- 
ple of  the  moral  nature  that  it  becomes  a  regal  nature. 
In  these  indignations  against  wrong,  it  champions  the 
right  and  judges  the  world.  Without  this,  or  apart 
from  this,  submission  to  wrong  is  pusillanimity,  forgive- 


360  THE    WRATH    OF    THE    LAMB 

ness  to  enemies  a  flimsy  and  feeble  habit,  love  a  merely 
clinging  devotement.  All  such  tender  passivities  be- 
come great,  only  as  they  consciously  consent  to  bathe, 
what  fiery  judgment  has  a  right  to  burn.  There  is  no 
dignity  in  them,  till  the  grand  vindicatory  instinct,  the 
governmental  wrath-principle,  is  found  united  with 
them.  This  also  it  is,  in  our  humanity,  that  is  always 
volunteering  government,  and  is,  in  that  manner,  the 
capacity  of  society — all  movements  of  redress,  all  insti- 
tutes of  penalty,  all  executed  pains  of  justice,  being 
issued,  as  it  were  naturally,  from  this.  It  is,  in  fact,  a 
kind  of  electric  battery  moral  that  God  has  put  in  the 
body  of  society,  to  shock,  or  stun,  or  kill,  the  violators 
of  order  and  right.  No  wrong-doer  can  so  much  as 
touch  it,  without  being  struck  and  paralyzed  by  it. 
And  it  is  in  virtue  of  this  same  regal  or  judicial  instinct, 
that  Grod's  moral  nature,  including  his  lovely  and  gentle 
sympathies,  becomes  everlastingly  electric,  in  its  wrath 
against  misdoing  and  wrong.  He  governs  with  a  will, 
he  towers  in  personal  majesty,  he  is  great  in  his  author- 
ity, because  the  regal  attribute  is  in  him.  Which  if  we 
suppose  to  be  true  in  no  sense  of  Christ,  if  we  take  him 
to  be  a  gentle  way  of  goodness  only,  separated  wholly 
from  this  flaming  kind  of  vigor — soft  only,  and  submis- 
sive, and  patient — we  put  him  in  a  grade  almost  un- 
moral, and  show  him  making  feeble  suit  to  the 
world,  in  the  merely  plaintive  airs  of  suffering.  The 
character  is  weak,  unkingly,  unchristly,  and  it  can  not 
l)e  more,  till  the  wrath,  is  added  to  the  patience,  of  the 
Lamb. 


THE    WRATH    OF    THE    LAMB.  861 

•1.  It  is  a  conceded  principle  of  justice,  thai  wrong- 
doers are  to  suffer  just  according  to  what  thej  deserve. 
It  was  unavoidable,  therefore,  that  if  Christ  brought  in 
new  mercies  and  gifts  of  grace,  the  liabilities  of  justice 
must  be  correspondently  increased — not  diminished,  as 
many  try  to  imagine.  As  the  score  of  justice,  too,  is 
augmented,  the  judicial  wrath  must  be,  and  be  also  at: 
much  more  forcibly  manifested — just  as  we  sliall  find  it 
to  be,  in  fact,  in  the  new  assertion  made  of  God,  by 
Christ's  personal  life  and  doctrine.  First  he  asserts  the 
principle — "  For  unto  whomsoever  much  is  given,  of 
him  shall  much  be  required."  Next  he  asserts  the  new 
liability  that  has  actually  accrued  under  it — "  If  I  had 
not  done  among  them  the  works  that  none  other  man 
did,  they  had  not  had  sin,  but  now  they  have  both  seen 
and  hated  both  me  and  my  Father."  Then  again  he 
makes  specific  denouncement  both  of  the  principle  and 
the  liability,  declaring  to  the  cities  that  reject  his  minis- 
try, that  they  are  bringing  a  doom  of  judgment  on  them, 
worse  than  God  ever  put  upon  the  worst  and  wickedest 
of  the  past  ages — "  Woe  unto  thee,  Chorazin,  woe  unto 
thee,  Bethsaida ;  it  shall  be  more  tolerable  for  Tyre  and 
Sidon  at  the  day  of  judgment  than  for  you."  "And 
thou,  Capernaum,  it  shall  be  more  tolerable  for  the  land 
of  Sodom,  in  the  day  of  judgment,  than  for  thee."  His 
apostles,  too,  onlj^  represent  him  fitly,  when  they  sav — 
"treasurest  up  unto  thyself  wrath,  against  the  day  of 
wrath  and  revelation  of  the  righteous  judgment  of 
God ;"  or  again — "  Of  how  much  sorer  punishment 
suppose  ye  shall  he  be  thought  worthy,  who  hath  trod- 

81 


862  THE    WEATH    OF    THE    LAMB 

den  under  foot  the  Son  of  God,  and  hath  counted  the 
blood  of  the  covenant  wherewith  he  was  sanctified  an 
unholy  thing,  and  hath  done  despite  unto  the  Spirit  of 
gi-ace."  The  wrath-principle  and  justice,  you  will  thuj? 
perceive,  have  the  same  place  under  Christianity  that 
they  had  before.  The  divi«ne  government  is  not  made 
new,  but  is  only  new  revealed.  God  is  not  less  just, 
nor  more  merciful,  but  more  fitly  and  proportionately 
expressed. 

5.  One  of  the  things  most  needed  in  the  recoverj^  of 
men  to  God,  is  this  very  thing  ;  a  more  decisive  mani- 
festation of  the  wrath-principle  and  justice  of  God.  In* 
timidation  is  the  first  means  of  grace.  No  bad  mind  is 
arrested  by  love  and  beauty,  till  such  time  as  it  is  balked 
in  evil  and  put  on  waj^s  of  thoughtful ness.  And 
nothing  will  be  so  effectual  for  this,  as  a  distinct  appj-e- 
hension  of  the  wrath  to  come.  Then,  when  it  is  brought 
to  a  condition  of  thoughtfulness  by  the  apprehension 
of  damage  and  loss,  the  vehemence  of  God  and  his 
judgments  starts  a  correspondent  moral  vehemenc-^  in 
its  own  self-condemnations ;  when  of  course  it  is  ready 
to  be  melted  by  the  compassions  and  won  by  the  beauty 
of  the  cross — that  is  born  of  God.  Now  it  is  no  longer 
swayed  by  interest  and  fear,  but  having  come  into  God's 
occupancy  and  become  spirit,  as  being  permeated  by 
God's  impulse,  it  ranges  in  liberty  with  God  himself. 
The  precise  thing  not  wanted,  in  this  view,  is  to  get 
justice  out  of  the  way.  To  know  that  the  aveng- 
ing wrjithrprinciple  of  God's  moral  nature  is  fon^ver 
hushed,  would  be  fata],     The  weak  poi'^t  of  sin  is  that 


THE    WRATH    OF    THE     LAMB.  363 

it  car  tremble — does  inwardly  tremble  even  in  its 
boldest  moods.  Too  low  in  its  moral  conceptions  to  be 
taken  by  goodness  and  love  it  for  its  own  sake,  it  can 
be  seized  and  shaken  by  the  rough  hand  of  wrath 
Hence  the  wrath  is  wanted,  and  at  this  point  the  attack 
of  salvation  begins.  It  could  not  be  a  salvation  by 
rose-water,  -or  by  any  means  less  stringent  than  GodY^ 
roughest  enforcements. 

6.  We  can  see  for  ourselves  that  the  more  impressive 
revelation  of  wrath,  which  appears  to  be  wanted,  is  actu- 
ally made  in  the  person  of  Christ.  I  will  not  stop  here 
to  speak  of  the  driving  out  of  the  money-changers 
from  the  temple,  which  has  been  the  scandal  of  so  many, 
just  because  of  the  imagined  over-vehemence  of  the 
wrath,  and  which  his  disciples  took  as  being  the  zeal 
that  was  to  eat  him  up;  I  will  not  stay  upon  the  fiery 
denunciations  and  imprecations  of  woe  by  which  he 
scorched  the  oppressions  and  the  sanctimonious  hypoc 
risies  of  the  priests  and  the  Pharisees ;  I  will  not  recui 
again  to  the  terrible  judgments  he  denounced  upon  so 
many  guilty  cities,  and  among  them  even  upon  Jerusa- 
lem itself;  but  pass  directly  to  the  fact  that  no  other 
preacher  ever  had  appealed  as  strenuously  as  he  to  the 
sense  of  fear,  or  employed  with  as  little  restraint  the 
artillery  of  God's  penalties.  The  terrible  and  abun- 
dantly unwelcome,  or  unpopular,  doctrine  of  future 
punishment  is  specially  his.  Previously,  the  sanctions 
of  religion  had  been  temporal,  and  the  future  state 
itself  had  been  only  dimly  revealed;  save  that  in  two 
or  three  single  passages  of  the  prophets  it  had  finally 


S()i  THE    WRATH    OF    THE    LAMB. 

obtained  a  more  distinct  recognition  and  pronounced 
Its  more  fearful  awards.  But  Christ,  when  he  came^ 
opeued  up  formallj  and  distinctly  the  great  world  of 
the  future,  and  pressed  home  the  claims  of  duty  and 
repentance  by  the  tremendous  sanctions  of  eternity, 
lie  uses,  without  scruple,  in  his  language,  the  most  ap- 
palling terms,  which,  though  they  are  certainly  figures 
of  speech,  are  yet  such  figures. as  show  that  he  is  in  no 
mood  of  delicacy,  but  is  keyed  up  in  the  wrath-princi- 
ple, as  intensely  and  heartily  as  he  is  in  the  love-prin- 
ciple— speaking  to  men  as  offended  majesty  should, 
when  it  goes  to  rebels  in  arms.  He  denounces  what  he 
calls  "  everlasting  punishment,"  "  destruction,"  "  death," 
"fire,"  "the  worm  that  never  dies,"  "the  gnashing  of 
teeth,"  "thirst,"  "outer  darkness,"  "torment."  I  can 
not  stop  to  settle  the  precise  meaning  of  these  figures. 
I  only  ask  you  to  note,  first,  that  they  are  new,  almost 
every  one  of  them,  never  heard  of  before,  even  under 
what  is  called  the  hard  and  pitiless  rigors  of  the  Old 
Testament;  and,  secondly,  that  they  are  from  Christ, 
the  all-merciful  Saviour,  and  tenderly  suffering  friend 
of  the  world.  We  call  him  the  Lamb,  for  God's  mercy 
w^as  never  before  revealed,  by  a  sacrifice  of  simple, 
unoffending  innocence.  And  just  so  these  are  the 
wrath  of  the  Lamb ;  which  never  before  shook  human 
bosoms  by  such  words  of  doom  and  sanctions  of  eternal 
majesty. 

Once  more  Christ  is  appointed,  and  publicly  under- 
takes, to  maintain  the  wrath-princij:Ie  officially,  as  the 
judge  of  the  world — even   as  he  maintains  the  love- 


THE    WRATH    OF    THE    LAMB.  365 

principle  officiall}^  as  the  Saviour  of  the  world.  He 
consents,  that  is,  when  every  attempt  to  do  better  by 
mon,  than  they  have  deserved,  has  failed  to  win  them, 
to  fall  back  on  the  merely  retributive  regimen  of  hia 
kingdom,  and  do  by  them  as  they  deserve.  He  even 
declares  that  authority  is  given  him  to  execute  judg- 
ment, because  he  is  the  Son  of  Man ;  for  as  he  has  come 
Into  the  flesh  to  unfold  God's  human  sympathy  and 
tenderness,  so,  to  maintain  what  is  only  fit  proportion, 
he  must  needs  be  clothed  in  the  rigors  of  judicial 
majesty.  He,  then,  is  to  be  the  judge,  as  he  himself 
openly  declares,  and  before  his  judgment-seat  all  man- 
kind, including  all  his  rejectors,  shall  be  gathered.  He 
will  separate  them  to  their  fit  award.  He  will  say,  "  ye 
did  it  not  to  me."  He  will  speak  the  "  depart."  Who- 
ever has  joined  himself  wholly  to  evil,  put  himself  to 
the  uses  of  evil,  that  is,  of  the  devil  and  his  angels,  he 
will  consign  to  the  devil  and  his  angels,  according  to 
their  real  affinities  and  according  to  what  they  deserve. 
And  this  is  the  wrath,  and  this  the  day  of  wrath  ;  "for 
the  great  day  of  his  wrath  is  come,  and  who  shall  be 
able  to  stand  ?" 

But  it  will  be  objected,  I  suppose,  by  some,  that  in 
the  view  now  presented,  the  hope  of  a  possible  salva- 
tion is  quite  taken  away.  You  can  not,  any  more, 
deserve  God's  favor,  how  then  can  you  be  saved,  unless 
God's  justice  be  somehow  satisfied  in  your  behalf?  You 
could  not,  I  answer,  if  God  were  obliged  to  execute 
justice,  having  no  option  concerning  it.  But  exactly 
contrary  to  this,  the  wrath-principle  in  him  is  OTily  that 

31* 


S66  THE    WEATII    OF    THE    LAMB. 

judicial  impulse  that  backs  him  in  the  infliction  of  jus- 
tice, whenever  justice  requires  to  be  inflicted.  And  il 
does  not  require  to  be  inflicted  always  ;  it  never  ouglit 
CO  be,  when  there  is  any  thing  better  that  is  possible. 
The  law  of  right,  or  righteousness,  is  absolute  and  eter- 
nal. Not  so  the  vindicatory  principle  of  justice.  Since 
penal  justice  is  only  a  matter  of  means  to  ends  in  gov- 
ernment, backed  by  the  wrath-impulse,  the  means  and 
occasions  are  to  be  regulated  by  counsel,  and  the  wrath 
moderated  by  counsel.  It  is  with  God,  in  these  mat- 
ters, as  it  is  with  us.  We  are  never  bound  to  do  by 
men  as  they  deserve,  simply  because  the  wrath-impulse 
moves  us  to  this,  if  only  we  are  able  to  do  what  is  bet- 
ter for  them,  and  involves  no  injury  to  others.  We  do 
not  want  our  justice  satisfied  before  we  can  forgive. 
No  more  does  God.  As  certainly  as  we  may,  at  any 
time,  do  by  our  enemy  and  for  him,  better  than  he  de- 
serves, however  pungently  we  may  feel  the  wTong  he 
has  done  us,  so  also  may  God.  Something  may  be 
necessary  on  his  part  to  save  an  appearance  of  laxity, 
when  he  forgives — some  kind  of  honor  paid  to  the  in- 
stituted order  of  justice,  that  will  keep  it  in  as  high 
respect  as  the  exact  execution  of  it.  Christ  will  see  to 
that.  I  can  not  here  describe  the  provision  he  has  made ; 
enough  that  when  he  remits  the  penalties  of  justice,  in 
his  moral  distributions,  he  shows  most  convincingly 
still,  that  he  adheres  to  justice  in  his  feeling  as  firmly  as 
ever.  It  does  not  follow,  when  I  forgive  my  enemy, 
that  I  condemn  any  the  less  heartily,  or  hotly,  the 
wrongs  he  has  done  me.     The  very  heat,  too,  of  my 


THE    WRATH    OF    THE    LAMB,  367 

rebukes,  and  of  my  decisive  measures  of  redress,  may 
be  the  means,  in  part,  by  which  he  is  subdued,  and  the 
redress  of  justice  made  unnecessary. 

Put  it  down,  then,  first  of  all,  at  the  close  of  this 
great  subject,  that  the  N'ew  Testament  gives  us  no  new 
God,  or  better  God,  or  less  just  God,  than  we  had  be- 
fore. He  is  the  I  Am  of  all  ages ;  the  I  Am  that  was, 
and  is,  and  is  to  come ;  the  same  that  was  declared  from 
the  beginning — "  The  Lord  God,  gracious  and  merciful, 
forgiving  iniquity,  transgressions,  and  sin,  and  that  will 
by  no  means  clear  the  guilty." 

At  the  same  time,  let  no  one  be  concerned  to  find 
how  God's  justice  has  been  satisfied,  or  please  himself 
in  the  discovery  how  Christ  has  made  up  the  needed 
satisfaction,  by  the  pains  and  penalties  of  his  cross. 
For  if  Christ  has  satisfied  God's  justice,  then  who  is 
going  to  satisfy  the  justice  of  Christ?  If  the  offered 
Lamb  has  propitiated,  or  appeased,  the  wrath  of  God 
against  transgressors,  then  a  question  of  some  point  re- 
mains, viz.,  who  is  going  to  propitiate  the  wrath  of  the 
Lamb  ?  Furthermore,  if  the  lighter  penalty  of  justice 
has  been  taken  ofi^,  on  the  original  score  of  retribution, 
who  is  going  to  lift  the  more  tremendous  liabilities  of 
justice  incurred  by  those  who  have  trodden  under  foot 
the  blood  of  the  Son  of  God,  and  cast  away  forever  all 
the  glorious  mercies  and  helps  of  the  cross?  0,  it 
grieves  me  to  think  of  the  poor,  speculated  inventions 
we  have  wearied  ourselves  to  set  up  on  this  summit,  and 
most  central  point,  of  gospel  truth  !     Wood,  hay,  stub- 


868  THE    WRATH    OF    THE    LAMB. 

ble — God  grant  that  when  it  is  burned  we  may  not 
perisli  in  the  fire  ourselves. 

Hovr  plain  is  it,  also,  in  such  a  view  of  God  and  the 
inevitable  wrath-principle  of  his  nature,  that  the  charity, 
so  called,  of  our  modern  philauthropism,  is  an  effemi- 
nate and  false  charity.  It  reprobates  all  condemning 
judgments  and  all  inflictions  of  penalty.  It  does  not 
really  believe  in  government,  or  in  sin  as  an  act  of  re- 
sponsible liberty.  Sin  is  only  misdirection,  and  the 
misdirecting  power  is  circumstance.  Are  we  not  all 
what  our  conditions  make  us  to  be?  Why,  then,  do 
we  lay  severe  judgments,  or  even  torments  of  penalty, 
on  the  head  of  transgression  ?  Just  contrary  to  this, 
we  have  seen  that  no  man  even  is  a  proper  man,  whose 
moral  nature  is  not  put  in  armor  by  the  wrath-principle. 
Much  less  is  God  true  God,  when  no  such  central  fire 
burns  in  his  bosom,  to  make  him  the  moral  avenger  of 
the  world.  Neither  let  any  one  argue  that  God,  as  he 
is  good,  must  desire  the  happiness  of  all,  and  that,  being 
omnipotent  also,  what  he  desires  he  will  certainly  bring 
to  pass.  What  if  it  should  also  be  true,  that  there  is  a 
wrath-impulse  in  his  nature,  burning  to  have  every 
wrong  chastised  by  the  pain  it  deserves;  is  not  the 
argument  as  good  to  show  that  the  chastisement  will 
certainly  be  inflicted?  The  argument,  in  fact,  holds 
neither  way,  least  of  all  in  showing  that  God  will  make 
ever  J  creature  happy  ;  for  we  know,  as  a  plain  matter 
of  fact,  that  he  does  not.  There  may  seem  to  be  a  c(]in- 
siderable  show  of  reason  in  the  vaunted  liberality  of 
this  new  pk'lanthropism  ;  still  it  is  only  that  weak  light 


THE    WRATH    OF    THE    LAMB.  '6Q9 

of  moonsliine  whicti  the  higher  light  of  day  dispels. 
The  eternal  King  is  King  indeed,  and  no  such  dis- 
penser only  of  the  confections  and  other  sweet  delecta- 
tions of  favor,  as  this  feeble  gospel  of  philanthropy 
requires  him  to  be.  O,  the  wrath  of  the  Lamb! — there 
is  the  rugged  majesty  of  meaning  that  transgression 
;v^ants  to  meet !  Smooth  and  soft  things  only  will  not 
do.  As  certainly  as  God  is  God,  and  Christ  his  prophet, 
he  will  not  come  bringing  pardons  only,  suing  and  suing 
to  the  guilty,  but  over  against  all  obstinacy  he  will 
kindle  his  fires  of  justice,  and  by  these  he  will  reign — 
even  where  by  love  he  can  not. 

We  are  brought  out  thus,  at  the  close,  just  where 
John  began,  when  he  came  to  make  prophetic  an- 
nouncement of  the  new  dispensation.  He  looks,  you 
may  see,  for  no  merely  soft  salvation,-  but  for  a  great 
and  appalling  salvation  rather.  "  Now  the  axe  will  be 
laid,"  he  says,  "unto  the  root  of  the  trees.  He  that 
Cometh  after  me  is  mightier  than  I,  his  fan  is  in  his 
hand,  he  will  thoroughly  purge  his  floor,  the  chaff  he 
will  burn  with  unquenchable  fire."  The  doctrines  of 
religion  will  now  be  more  spiritual  and  the  tests  more 
severe.  God  will  not  be  changed,  but  will  only  be 
more  peifectly  shown.  Responsibilities  will  not  be 
diminished,  but  increased  with  the  increase  of  light. 
If  Christ  bends  low  at  his  cross,  no  such  fearful  words 
of  warning  and  severity  as  his  were  ever  before  spoken. 
The  Old  Testament  is  a  dew-fall  in  comparison  with 
the  simply  judicial,  spiritual,  unbending,  and  impartial 
wrath  of  the  New.     And  this  exactly  is  the  impression, 


870  THE     WKATH    OF    THE    LAMB. 

we  can  see,  of  Christ  liimself — putting  fortli  liis  most 
ominous  warning  in  the  tender  shape  even  of  a  bless- 
ing— "  Blessed  is  he  whosoever  is  not  offended  in  me." 
He  speaks  also  of  a  taking  away,  and  a  still  farther 
taking  away,  in  his  parable  of  the  talents,  where  he 
seems  to  be  looking  distinctly  on  the  fact  that,  as  life 
progresses,  every  soul  is  descending  more  and  more 
closely  down  to  justice;  losing  out  the  conditions  and 
prospects,  one  after  another,  of  being  treated  better 
than  it  deserves ;  to  be  finally  suited  in  the  only  alter- 
native left — treated  in  strict  justice  as  it  deserves.  In 
his  tenderest  accents  of  mercy,  there  is  always  blended, 
as  it  were,  some  reverberative  note  of  judgment;  as  if 
there  was  a  voice  behind  saying,  behold,  therefore,  the 
goodness — and  severity  of  God !  It  does  not  signify 
as  much  when  he  unmasks  his  judgment  throne,  and 
'jhows  the  gathering  in,  and  tells  the  issues  to  be  made, 
as  it  does  that  his  very  love  is  so  visibly  tempered  with 
dread,  in  the  sense  of  what  his  rejectors  are  doing.  O, 
how  far  away  the  conceit  of  that  clumsy  speculation 
which  shows  him  smoothing  down  the  rugged  front  of 
justice.  No  such  conception  of  his  gospel  mission  has 
he,  as  we  can  easily  see  for  ourselves.  Christianity  to 
him,  my  friends,  is  not  the  same  thing  that  it  has  been 
to  many  of  you.  Doubtless  it  is  a  great  salvation  to 
him ;  and  3^ou  may  also  think  it  such  yourselves ;  but 
if  you  take  it  simply  as  a  penal  satisfaction  for  your 
sins,  placing  its  value  wholly  in  that,  so  great  an  abuse 
will  scarcely  suffer  it  to  have  been,  or  in  fact  ever  to  bo, 
any  real  salvation  to  yon  at  all.     You  presume  upon 


THE    WRATH    OF    THE    LAMB.  871 

the  cross.  You  take  it  for  granted  that  Christ  is  going 
to  do  bj  you  better  than  you  deserve,  whereas  that 
depends  in  part  on  you.  If  you  can  not  be  turned 
away  from  your  sin,  then  he  is  preparing  to  do  by  you 
exactly  as  you  deserve.  Christ  understands  Christi- 
anity— hear  him  therefore  say,  with  a  manner  of  dread 
how  deep,  in  words  that  toll  in  a  warning  as  deep  for 
you — Whosoever  shall  fall  on  this  stone  shall  be 
"broken,  but  on  whomsoever  it  shall  fall,  it  will  grind 
him  to  powder. 


XVIII. 

CHRIS'TIAN  FORGIVENESS. 


^^Forgiving  one  another^  even  as  God  for  Chrisi^s  sake 
hath  forgiven  you.'''' — Eph.  iv,  32. 

Under  these  words,  '■^  even  as,''^  and  the  relation  or 
comparison  they  introduce,  a  very  serious  and  high 
truth  is  presented;  viz.,  that  our  human  or  Christian 
forgivenesses  are  to  correspond  with  the  forgiveness  of 
sins  by  Christ  himself;  to  be  cast  in  the  same  molds  of 
quality  and  bestowed  under  similar  conditions.  And 
that  we  may  not  fail  of  receiving  such  an  impression, 
the  principle  or  idea  is  made  to  recur  many  times  over, 
and  in  such  wa3^s  that  we  can  not  miss  of  it,  or  throw  a 
doubt  upon  it.  Thus  we  read  again — "forgiving  one 
another,  if  any  man  have  a  quarrel  against  any ;  even 
as  Christ  forgave  you  so  also  do  ye."  Again,  in  the 
gospels,  it  is  given  us  in  Christ's  own  words — "forgive, 
and  ye  shall  be  forgiven  " — "for  if  ye  forgive  men  their 
trespasses,  your  heavenly  Father  will  also  forgive  you ; 
but  if  ye  forgive  not  men  their  trespasses,  neither  will 
your  heavenly  Father  forgive  your  trespasses."  He 
will  not  even  allow  us  to  pray  for  forgiveness,  save  as  we 
ourselves  forgive — "  Forgive  us  our  trespasses,  even  as 
we  forgive  those  who  trespass  against  us."     All  this  on 


CHRISTIAN    FORGIVENESS.  373 

the  ground  that  there  is  such  an  analogy  between  the 
forgiveness  of  Christ  to  us,  and  ours  to  our  brethren 
and  our  fellow-men,  as  makes  them  virtually  alike  ii» 
spirit  and  kind,  though  not  equal  of  course  in  degree. 
G  he  quality  of  the  virtue,  the  greatness  of  feeling,  and 
height  of  meaning,  will  be  so  far  correspondent,  at  least, 
that  the  smaller  will  represent  the  larger,  and,  according 
to  its  measure,  reveal  the  same  properties. 

I  state  the  point  thus  distinctly,  because,  in  the  matter 
of  forgiveness  among  men,  a  kind  of  lapse,  or  sinking 
of  grade,  appears  to  have  somehow  occurred ;  so  that, 
holding  still  the  duty  of  forgiveness,  we  have  it  in  a 
form  so  cheap  and  low,  as  to  signify  little  when  it  is 
practiced.  "  O,  yes,"  says  the  brother,  finally  worn  out 
hy  much  expostulation,  on  account  of  the  grudge  he  is 
holding  against  another  who  has  greatly  injured  him, 
"I  will  forgive  him,  but  I  hope  never  to  see  him  again.'' 
Christ  does  not  say  that  to  the  man  whom  he  forgives, 
and  I  suppose  it  would  commonly  be  regarded  among 
brethren,  as  a  rather  scant  mode  of  forgiveness — such  a 
mode  of  it  as  scarely  fulfills  the  idea.  Another  degree 
of  it,  which  would  probably  pass,  says — "Yes,  let  him 
come  to  me  and  ask  to  be  forgiven,  and  it  will  be  time 
for  me  to  answer  him."  Probably  a  quotation  is  made, 
in  this  connection,  of  the  scripture  text  which  says — "  If 
thy  brother  repent  forgive  him."  And  most  certainly 
he  should  be  thus  forgiven,  when  the  repentance  appears 
to  be  an  actual  and  present  fact ;  but  suppose  that  no 
Buch  repentance  has  yet  appeared.  Is  it  then  enough 
to  say,  "  let  him  come  and  ask  to  be  forgiven?"     Many 

32 


874  CHRISTIAN    FORGIVENESS. 

think  so,  and  the  argument  appears  to  be  conclusive, 
when  they  demand — "How  can  I  be  expected  to  for- 
give, where  there  is  no  repentance,  and  the  wrong  ia 
just  as  stubbornly  adhered  to  as  ever?  What  but  a 
mockery  is  it  for  me  to  forgive,  when  there  is  no  for- 
giveness wanted,  and  my  adversary  has  not  even  come 
into  the  right?" 

Well  then,  suppose  that  Christ  had  stopped  just  there. 
IS'obody  is  asking  to  be  forgiven,  all  are  in  their  sina 
and  mean  to  be  there.  They  love  their  sins.  They 
have  asked  no  release  or  forgiveness.  They  are  not  re- 
pentant in  the  least  degree.  What  then  is  there  for  him 
to  do  ?  Is  he  not  absolved  from  any  such  matter  as  the 
preparing  and  publishing  of  forgiveness,  by  the  simple 
fact  that  nobody  wants  it,  or  asks  for  it?"  "If  they 
were  penitent,"  he  might  say,  "it  would  lay  a  heavy 
charge  upon  me.  But  they  are  not,  and  what  is  for- 
giveness thrust  upon  souls  that  do  not  even  so  much  as 
care  for  it?" 

Why,  my  friends,  it  is  just  here  that  Christ  and  his 
gospel  begin — just  here,  in  fact,  that  his  forgiveness 
begins ;  viz.,  in  for-giving,  giving  himself  for,  and  to, 
the  blinded  and  dead  heart  of  unrepentant  men,  to  make 
them  penitent,  and  regain  them  to  God.  The  real  gist 
of  his  forgiveness  antedates  their  penitence ;  it  is  what 
he  does,  shows,  suffers,  in  a  way  of  gaining  his  enemy — 
bringing  him  off  and  away,  that  is,  from  his  wrongs,  to 
seek,  and,  in  a  true  sorrow,  :ind,  the  forgiveness  that 
has  been  searching  beforehand  so  tenderly  after  him. 

If  we  are  to  understand  this  matter  accurately,  as  it 


CHRISTIAN    FORGIVENESS.  875 

stands  in  the  New  Testament,  we  need  to  observe  that 
two  very  distinct  and,  in  some  respects,  dissiioilar 
Grreek  words  are  employed  here,  to  denote  the  virtue 
under  consideration;  both  of  which  are  translated  by 
the  single,  very  beautiful,  but  strangely  dishonored 
English  word,  forgiveness.  One  signifies  merely  a  let- 
ting go,  a  release  of  charges,  an  exemption  from  pun- 
ishment, the  merely  negative  good  of  not  being  held  in 
condemnation ;  a  word  accurately  translated  here  and 
there  by  the  word  "  remission."  The  other  signifies  the 
very  positive  and  operative  matter  of  sacrifice  and 
suffering  to  gain  the  heart  of  an  adversary ;  that  which 
not  merely  lets  go,  but  prepares  men  to  be  let  go.  Lit- 
erally this  word  means  "to  bestow  grace."  Thus  in 
the  text,  where  it  is  translated  forgive,  we  may  read — 
"  dealing  grace,  one  towards  another,  even  as  God  for 
Christ's  sake,  hath  dealt  grace  towards  you."  There  is 
also  this  remarkable  contrast  between  the  two  words, 
translating  both  by  forgiveness,  that  one  fixes  on  the 
very  last  point,  or  final  effect  of  forgiveness,  viz.,  the 
release,  the  letting  go  of  charges,  the  absolution  which 
says,  "  go  in  peace ;"  and  the  other  finds  its  main  idea  in 
the  first  things  of  forgiveness,  the  love,  the  going  after, 
the  giving-for,  by  which  the  soul  is  taken  hold  of  sooner 
than  it  asks  to  be ;  that  which  did  not  wait  for  peni- 
tence to  come,  that  it  might  let  penitence  go,  but  which 
undertook  to  bring  on  penitence,  prepare  it,  melt  tlie 
heart  into  it,  and  so  to  execute  the  letting  go  of  the  soul, 
by  making  the  sins  let  go  of  it. 

Now  both  of  these  words  are  names,  we  have  said,  of 


376  CHRISTIAN    FORGIVENESS. 

the  same  grace;  viz.,  the  grace  of  forgiveness;  only 
one  names  it  from  a  last  incident  or  effect,  and  the 
other  from  the  initiative  movement  of  love  and  opera- 
tive goodness,  in  which  it  took  its  spring — -just  as  one 
might  name  the  dawn,  as  a  mere  effect,  or  call  it  the 
sun  rising,  as  denoting  the  cause  or  spring  of  the  re- 
turning light ;  where  of  course  the  names  are  coinci- 
dent, though  inherently  different  from  each  other.  In 
the  present  case,  there  is  an  immense  difference  between 
the  two  words  employed,  as  regards  the  dignity  and  the 
real  amount  of  their  meaning — all  the  moral  greatness, 
or  high  beneficence,  appears  to  lie  in  the  grace-dealing 
of  love  and  sacrifice  that  prepares  the  remjission ;  and 
yet  when  the  lower,  feebler  word  is  used,  as  it  is  in  a 
majority  of  cases,  all  that  is  in  the  other  word  is  sup- 
posed to  pass  into  its  meaning,  and  keep  along  with  it. 
Nothing  is  further  off  from  Christ  and  his  apostles,  than 
to  suppose,  in  any  case,  that  the  forgiveness  they  speak 
of  is  nothing  but  the  simple  letting  go  of  charges  against 
the  penitent.  They  have  it  understood  always  that  the 
grand  reality  of  the  forgiveness  preached  is  that  which 
went  before,  in  the  putting  by  of  so  much  injured  feel- 
ing, the  going  after  them  that  w^ant  no  forgiveness,  the 
giving  for,  and  suffering  for,  by  which  they  may  be 
drawn  to  Grod ; — just  that  which  is  described  historically 
and  transactionally,  when  the  apostle  says,  "  "Who  gave 
himself  a  ransom  for  all,"  "  who  gave  himself  for  me." 
For  it  is  precisely  this  which  goes  into  the  higher  word 
"grace-dealing"  and  composes  the  reality  of  its  mean- 
ing.    This  is  the  grace,  that  Christ  gives  himself  for  us, 


CHRISTIAN    FORGIVENESS.  377 

Aiid  SO  works  in  us,  by  his  sacrifice,  that  we  are  trans- 
formed, reconciled,  covered  in  with  God's  feeling,  in 
one  word,  forgiven. 

Do  not  understand  me  to  say  that  the  higher  Greek 
word  is  made  up  of  the  verb  to  give^  with  the  preposi- 
tion /or,  like  our  English  word.  It  is  not;  it  signifies 
literally  and  simply  '■''dealing  grace^''  or  "doing  grace 
upon;"  which  is  represented  by  the  genius  of  our 
tongue,  in  the  word  "  for-giving ;"  and,  what  is  remarka- 
ble, the  Latin  and  all  the  principal  modern  tongues,  [aa 
in  con-dono^  par-don^  ver-gehen^']  make  np  their  word 
signifjdng  remission  in  the  same  way,  by  compounding 
their  verb  to  give  with  a  preposition  answering  to  for ; 
giving  it,  as  it  were  by  vote,  and  declaring  it  as  their 
inward  sense  or  conviction,  that  the  true  forgiving  of 
wrong  and  evil  is  that  which  has  its  beauty  and  great- 
ness and  the  spring  of  its  operative  power,  in  a  giving- 
for  the  sinners  and  the  sins  to  be  forgiven. 

And  lest  this  might  seem  to  be  scarcely  better  than  a 
suggestion  of  the  fancy,  or  a  curiosity  of  speech,  let  ua 
glance  a  moment  at  the  practical,  or  practically  Chris- 
tian, import  of  forgiveness  when  it  is  received.  What 
is  it  practically  to  ns,  or  in  us?  What  does  it  do  for 
us?  What  internal  changes  of  position,  or  experience, 
does  it  bring?  Answering  these  questions,  we  shall 
find  that  forgiveness,  when  ascribed  to  Christ,  haa 
suilbred  a  lapse  or  fall  in  our  understanding,  much 
like  that  which  it  has  suffered  when  applied  to  men. 
For  the  wr^rd  is  taken  by  multitudes,  including  even 
teachers  of  theology,  as  if  it  had  no  reach  of  meaning 

82* 


378  CHRISTIAN    FORGIVENESS. 

above  the  lower  and  more  negative  of  the  two  words 
just  referred  to.  Thus  we  say  that  Christ  first  prepaies 
a  ground  of  forgiveness,  by  suffering  before  God  (pe- 
nal iy  or  not  penally)  in  a  manner  to  even  the  account 
of  our  sin ;  and  then,  having  magnified  the  justi^^e  of 
God,  lie  is  able  to  let  go,  remit,  release  the  charge  of,  in 
that  Sense,  forgive  our  sin.  AVell,  suppose  the  absolu- 
tion is  passed  and  we  are  let  go,  declared  to  be  let  go, 
as  I  let  go  verbal!}^  my  enemy  when  I  forgive  him. 
What  does  this  signify,  that  God  has  let  go,  taken  off" 
all  charges  against,  his  enemy?  Just  nothing  but  a 
most  barren  mockery,  unless  he  has  somehow  got  into 
the  man's  bosom  and  executed  his  pardon,  by  making 
the  sins  let  go  of  him.  And  precisely  here  is  the  stress, 
the  struggle,  the  wonder  and  glory  of  the  forgiveness ; 
that  Christ,  going  before,  has  gotten  him  away  from  his 
sin ;  and,  in  all  this  previous  grace-dealing,  the  reality 
of  the  letting  go,  otherwise  nothing  but  empty  words,  is 
accomplished.  Why,  the  man  to  be  redeemed  had  a 
hell  of  retributive  causes  tearing  in  his  disordered  na- 
ture, and  the  mere  letting  him  go  only  lets  him  have 
that  hell  to  himself!  No,  the  grand  effort  of  forgive- 
ness begins  farther  back,  in  what  is  undertaken  for  the 
sinner  to  win  upon  him,  change  him,  get  him  loose 
from  sin,  loose  from  retribution,  and  then  the  letting  go 
is  only  the  ending  off^,  or  completion  declared.  And  so 
the  real  forgiveness  is  that  Jesus  came,  to  be  for  his  ad- 
versarj^  and  execute  the  great  release  in  him.  Long 
ages  ago,  before  the  foundation  of  the  world,  his  mind 
of  love  began  to  grapple  with  the  wrong  and  bitt(3r  woe 


CHRISTIA.N-    FORGIVENESS.  879 

of  Lis  adversary.  He  was  not  saying,  "  let  liim  come  to 
nie,  in  his  day,  and  ask  it  if  lie  will,  and  then  I  will 
forgive  him ;"  as  little  was  it  in  him  to  say,  "  let  him  be 
a  better  man  and  by-gones  shall  be  by-gones."  But 
}!8  was  the  Lamb  slain  already.  He  was  contriving 
how  to  get  beforehand  in  his  forgiveness,  postponing 
his  just  indignations,  laying  himself  into  the  case  of  Lis 
adversaries  to  gain  them  back,  planning  a  descent  into 
the  flesh  and  a  suffering  life — giving  himself  for,  in  a 
word  forgiving,  in  all  profoundest  reality  of  feeling, 
ages  before  they  arrive,  and  of  course  before  they  come 
to  ask  forgiveness.  And  when  they  come  along  in 
their  day,  and  say  for  their  scanty  testimony  in  receiv- 
ing such  a  grace,  "Christ  has  let  ns  go,  Christ  has  re- 
mitted our  sins,"  he  will  himself  have  a  deeper  solution, 
in  the  consciousness  of  having  long  ago  given  himself 
for  them,  and  had  the  enjoyment  of  their  forgiven  state. 
Neither  will  he  ever  think  of  it  as  any  fit  summation 
of  his  work  in  the  world,  to  say  that  he  has  first  pre- 
pared a  ground  of  forgiveness,  and  then  that  having 
made  forgiveness  safe  in  that  manner,  he  is  able  to  re 
lease  or  let  go,  or  in  that  sense  forgive  sins.  No,  but 
he  will  understand  that  he  was  lifted  up  to  draw  men 
away  from  their  sins,  and  be  the  release  in  them ;  that, 
by  showing  how  God  suffers  in  feeling  for  sinners,  he 
Las  gotten  a  power  in  tLeir  feeling ;  in  a  word,  tliat,  by 
giving  himself  for  his  adversaries,  in  such  burdens  of 
sympathy,  and  fear,  and  care,  and  against  such  tempests 
of  murderous  and  bloody  wrong,  he  has  slid  himself 
into  the  secret  place  of  their  sins  and  made  them  all  let 


380  .     CHRISTIAN    FORGIVENESS. 

go — in  that  manner  executed  the  release ;  so  that  no^w 
he  can  saj,  with  real  truth  in  the  words,  "  thj  sins  are 
forgiven  thee." 

We  go  back  now  from  this  excursion,  to  the  subject- 
matter  at  which  we  began ;  viz.,  the  duty  of  forgive- 
ness between  brethren,  or  fellow-men.  And  we  carry 
back  ihis  verj^  important  principle  or  discover}?-;  that 
the  realit}^  of  forgiveness,  or  the  grace  of  a  forgiving 
spirit  in  us,  lies  not  so  much  in  our  ability  to  let  go,  or 
to  be  persuaded  to  let  go,  the  remembrance  of  injuries, 
as  in  what  we  are  able  to  do,  what  volunteer  sacrifices 
to  make,  what  painstaking  to  undergo,  that  we  may  get 
our  adversary  softened,  to  want,  or  gently  accept,  our 
forgiveness.  If  it  is  in  us  to  forgive,  in  any  real  and 
properly  Christian  sense  of  the  term,  it  will  not  be  that 
we  can  somehow  be  gotten  down  to  it,  by  the  expostu- 
lations of  brethren,  nor  that  we  only  do  not  expressly 
claim  a  right  to  stay  in  our  grudge,  or  the  hurt  feeling 
raised  by  the  wrongs  of  our  adversary,  till  he  comes  to 
us  in  a  better  mind.  Perhaps  he  ought  to  come,  or  to 
have  come  long  ago,  but  that  is  nothing  as  regards  our 
justification.  If  we  know  how  to  forgive,  we  shall  be 
like  Christ  our  Master,  we  shall  be  giving  ourselves  for 
our  adversary,  circumventing  him  by  our  prayers,  con- 
triving ways  to  reach  his  tenderness  and  turn  the  bad 
will  he  is  in,  taking  pains,  even  to  the  extent  of  great 
loss  and  suffering,  that  we  may  get  him  mto  the  right 
again ;  thus  to  accept  our  remission,  and  be  joined  to 
us  openly  for  Christ  our  Master's  sake. 


CHRISTIAN    FORGIVENESS.  881 

But  this,  it  may  be  objected,  carries  the  obligation 
too  high — Christ  was  a  peculiar  being,  in  a  ver}^  pe- 
culiar office,  and  it  can  not  be  expected  of  us  to  follow 
him  and  be  like  him,  in  what  belonged  rather  to  his 
official  work,  than  to  the  merely  inherent  principle  of 
personal  excellence  in  his  character.  Now  it  may  be 
very  true  that  we  are  not  called  to  work  out  the  same 
problems  of  divine  government,  but  we  are  required  to 
have,  in  our  degree,  exactly  the  same  modes  of  charac- 
ter, and  all  that  he  did  was  the  simple  coming  out  of 
his  character.  He  had  no  good  ways,  or  qualities,  that 
were  more  than  good,  no  merits  of  character  that  were 
superlative  and  above  all  the  known  standards  of  merit. 
On  the  contrary  one  of  the  great  and  blessed  objects  of 
his  mission  was  to  consist  in  the  true  unfolding  of  God's 
feelings,  graces,  perfections,  so  as  to  draw  us  into  the 
same,  or  impregnate  our  fallen  life  with  the  same.  No 
matter  what  relations  he  may  have  filled,  or  solved,  in 
the  great  inj^stery  of  government,  still  every  thing  he 
undertook  and  bore  was  for  forgiveness'  sake,  and  he 
had  precisely  the  same  reasons  of  feeling  for  withhold- 
ing himself  that  we  have,  when  we  withhold  from  our 
adversaries.  He  had  his  personal  indignations  against 
the  wrong  of  transgressors,  he  had  his  disgusts  towards 
their  character,  he  had  feelings  wounded  by  the  sense 
of  their  wrongs,  and  if  he  could  have  let  a  little  pride 
play  among  his  passions,  he  would  have  had  his  bitter, 
invincible  grudges  against  them;  so  that  when  he 
thought  of  them  he  would  have  said,  "I  want  no  more 
to  do  with  them.     Perhaps  I  will  consider  them,  if  they 


382  CHRISTIAN    FORGIVENESS. 

come  to  me  in  a  better  mind,  but  until  they  do,  I  shall 
let  them  take  the  wages  of  their  sin,  giving  mj^self  no 
farther  trouble."  The  only  reason  why  he  did  not  do 
this  was  that  he  was  too  perfect  in  excellence  to  do  it. 
ITe  must  dispense  forgiveness.  He  must  go  before,  and 
^'ive  himself  for,  and  watch,  and  wait,  and  suffer,  and 
sue,  at  the  gate  of  his  adversaries.  And  why  not  we? 
Because,  says  the  objection,  Christ  was  peculiar,  and 
could  do  things  out  of  his  peculiarity  that  are  too  high 
for  us.  No!  no!  his  great  peculiarity  was  that  he 
could  be  right.  "Faithful  and  just,"  says  an  apostle, 
*'  to  forgive  us  our  sins."  He  could  not  be  faithful  to 
his  trust  as  Creator  and  Lord,  could  not  be  consciously 
just  or  righteous,  (for  that  is  what  the  term  here 
means,)  if  he  did  not  prepare  and  offer  the  forgiveness 
of  sins.  If  there  be  some  kind  of  rectoral,  or  public, 
justice  that  required  to  be  maintained  by  some  fit  com- 
pensation, or  compensative  expression,  that  is  another 
matter,  but  there  wanted  nothing  in  him  better  than 
that  most  solid  justice,  which  is  everlasting,  immutable, 
righteousness,  to  make  him  a  forgiver  of  sin.  And  in 
all'  that  you  distinguish  of  a  nobler  and  diviner  life,  in 
his  bearing  of  his  enemies  and  their  sins,  he  is  simply 
showing  what  belongs,  in  righteousness,  to  every  moral 
•nature  from  the  Uncreated  Lord  down  to  the  humblest 
created  intelligence.  Forgiveness,  this  same  Christly 
forgiveness,  belongs  to  all;  to  you,  to  me,  to  every 
lowest  mortal  that  bears  God's  image. 

Do  we,  then,  undertake  to  saj^,  that  there  is  no  salva- 
tion, out  of  this  same  Christly  forgiveness — has  no  man 


CHRISTIAN    FORGIVENESS.  383 

a  right  to  expect  salvation,  whose  soul  hangs  fire  at  the 
point  of  such  forgiveness?  must  he  forgive,  in  this 
Christly  manner,  going  before  and  giving  himself  for, 
his  adversary,  if  he  is  to  be  forgiven  ?  What  then  does 
the  Saviour  himself  say  to  this?  When  he  has  taught 
you  to  pray — "  forgive  us  our  debts  as  lue  forgive  our 
debtors,"  and  has  added,  "but  if  ye  forgive  not  men 
their  trespasses,  neither  will  your  Heavenly  Father  for- 
give your  trespasses,"  what  does  it  mean,  or  to  w^hat 
does  it  bring  you  ?  Can  you  turn  off  the  bad  conclusion, 
by  contriving  a  sort  of  forgiveness  that  is  lower,  such 
barely  as  can  manage  to  choke  down  a  grudge,  or  not 
choke  down  an  adversary,  when  he  comes  to  ask  a  re- 
conciliation ?  And  was  that  Christ's  meaning?  was  he 
saying  "  forgive  in  your  own  sense,  or  else  I  will  not  for- 
give in  mine?"  O,  these  niggard  forgivenesses!  He 
would  even  make  you  repent  of  them  !  He  wants  you 
to  be  with  him  in  his  own!  He  wants  such  a  feeling 
struggling  in  your  bosom,  that  you  can  not  bear  to 
have  an  adversary,  can  not  rest  from  your  prayers  and 
sacrifices  and  the  life-long  suit  of  your  concern,  till  you 
have  gained  him  away  from  his  wrong,  and  brought 
him  into  peace.  This  in  fact  is  salvation  ;  to  be  with 
Christ,  in  all  the  travail  of  his  forgivenesses. 

Besides,  there  is  another  answer  to  this  question  of 
salvation.  As  we  just  now  said  that  Christ  was  simply 
fulfilling  the  right  in  his  blessed  ways  of  forgiveness,  so 
we  may  conceive  that  he  is  simply  fulfilling  the  eternal 
love.  For  what  is  right  coincides  with  love,  and  love 
with  what  is  right.     Now  Christ  is  in  this  kind  of  forgive- 


884  CHRISTIAN    FORGIVENESS. 

ness — unable  to  stand  for  tlie  relenting  of  Lis  adversa- 
ries, going  before  them,  and  giving  himself  for  them — 
just  because  it  is  in  the  nature  of  love  to  do  so.     For  it 
is  a  vicariaus  principle  and  must  insert  itself  into  what- 
ever sorrow,  sin,  suffering,  danger,  it  looks  upon ;  and, 
for  this  most  affecting  reason,  can  not  rest  till  it  has 
either  gotten  its  adversary  to  its  bosom,  or  discovered 
the  impossibility  that  he  ever  should  be.     Are  we  then 
to  look  for  salvation,  when  we  are  out  of  this  love? 
"What  do  we  most  readily  believe  and  most  commonly 
hold,  but  that  our  salvation  lies  in  loving  God  and 
having  his  love  upon  us?    The  being  in  heaven's  love 
is,  we  all  agree,  the  bond  of  heaven's  perfectness,  the 
very  life  and   constituent   beatitude  of  heaven  itself 
And  what  will  this  love  do  in  us  but  just  what  it  does 
in  Christ  ?     If  it  keeps  down  all  grudges  and  hard  judg- 
ments in  him,  if  it  makes  forgiveness  his  dearest  oppor- 
tunity, if  it  puts  him  into  the  case  of  his  adversary, 
bearing  his  wrongs,  and  contriving  only  how  to  prepare 
him  to  forgiveness — if,  I  say,  the  love  so  works  in  him, 
what  will  it  do  and  how  will  it  work  in  you  ?     Let  it 
not  be  disguised  from  you,  that  there  are  many  kinds 
of  mock  love,  and  but  one  that  is  true,  even  that  which 
works  so  sublimely  in  the  self-sacrificing  ways  of  Jesus 
our  Master.     Thus  there  is  a  theologic  love,  a  state  that 
is  tested  by  merely  defined  contrasts  of  feeling,  apart 
frcm  any  effects  in  the  practical  sacrifices  of  the  life. 
There  is   also   a   sentimental  love,  taken   with   God's 
beauty.      And   again    there   is  a   philanthropic   love, 
which  is  caught  with  great  expectations  for  man,  coming 


CHRISTIAN    FORGIVEN-ESS.  S85 

out  of  its  own  prodigious,  better  than  Christian,  reforms. 
Now  the  test  of  all  these  mock  species  of  love  is  that 
there  is  no  forgiveness  in  them.  You  may  be  in  this, 
or  that,  or  all  of  them,  and  thej  will  not  help  you  to 
bear  one  enemy,  or  put  you  into  any  tender  ways  of 
seeking  after  an  adversary.  Could  there  be  any 
more  damning  evidence  against  your  love,  whether  it 
be  the  defined  evangelical,  or  the  sentimental,  or  the 
philanthropic,  than  that  there  is  no  Christly  forgiveness 
in  it?  That  being  true,  how  is  any  salvation  to  come 
out  of  it?  ISTo,  my  friends,  this  is  the  love — the  only 
true — "  Hereby  perceive  we  the  love  of  God,  because 
he  laid  down  his  life  for  us ;  and  we  ought  to  lay  down 
our  lives  for  the  brethren." 

Taking  now  this  high  view  of  the  Christian  spirit  as 
related  to  Christ,  it  would  not  surprise  me,  if  there 
should  be  a  feeling  of  special  revulsion,  or  repulsion, 
rising  up  in  some  of  your  hearts,  to  thrust  away  even 
farther  than  ever  the  claims  of  religion.  "  I  could  not 
be  a  Christian  after  this  kind,"  you  will  say,  "  and  I 
never  can  be.  If  I  must  forgive  all  the  wrongs  I  meet, 
after  this  manner,  I  must  give  up  any  right  to  be  a 
proper  man.  Such  a  volunteering  of  forgiveness  before 
it  is  sought,  and  even  ^when  smarting  under  the  bitter 
wrongs  of  an  enemy,  is  too  spiritless  and  w^eak  in  the 
look  of  it — I  could  not  endure  being  held  down  to  any 
such  forgiving  way."  All  this,  my  friends,  may  be 
very  true,  regarding  only  the  present  key  of  your  feel- 
ing and  life — I  presume  it  is.     But  it  may  be  equally 

33 


886  CHRISTIAN    FORGIVENESS. 

true,  at  the  same  time,  tliat  your  judgment  is  a  false 
one,  and  that  this  very  impossible  looking  forgiveness, 
when  you  are  once  really  in  it,  by  the  grace  of  God, 
will  be  such  an  element  of  dignity,  and  r(^st,  and 
ptrength,  and  conscious  superiority  to  all  wrong-doers 
Und  wrongs,  that  you  will  even  seem  to  be  raised  by  it 
in  the  relative  grade  of  your  nature  itself.  Wh}^,  my 
friends,  instead  of  being  humbled,  and  tamed,  and  put 
in  mortification,  by  this  entering  into  forgiveness  witli 
Christ,  you  will  ascend  rather  into  greatness  and  con- 
scious sovereignty  with  him,  and  will  then,  for  the  first 
time,  begin  to  conceive  what  it  is  to  be  free  and  a  king ! 
No,  the  forgiveness  you  so  much  distaste  is  probably 
not  the  forgiveness  I  describe,  but  the  low,  false  kind 
of  your  old  associations ;  that  niggard,  misnamed  for- 
giveness that  cheapens  the  grace  by  putting  all  sacrifice 
out  of  question,  and  makes  it  distasteful  by  reducing  it 
to  so  low  a  figure,  that  pride  can  be  just  goaded  into  it. 
Sticking  fast  in  its  bitternesses,  resentments,  and 
grudges,  and  contriving  how  little  and  late  to  forgive,  it 
is  only  dogged  into  some  verbal  letting  go,  which  is  the 
more  certainly  cross  to  self-respect,  that  there  is  no 
genuine  meaning  in  it,  and  nothing  genuine  but  the  fit 
mortification.  Not  so  is  it,  but  far  otherwise,  with  the 
really  Christly  forgiveness.  Here  the  soul  has  a  really 
great  feeling  to  begin  with,  and  the  moment  it  under- 
takes for  its  adversary,  it  goes  above  him.  No  matter 
what  his  power  and  the  dignity  of  his  station,  the  hum- 
blest peasant  puts  him  under,  when  he  begins  to  pray 
for  him,  and  contrive  and  labor  for  his  sake.     No  mat- 


CHRISTIAN    FORGIVENESS.  387 

ter  what,  or  how  great,  the  wrong  you  have  Huflered,  the 
way  to  make  it  greater  is  to  hug  it  fast  in  grudges  and 
blistering  resentments.  Pride,  passion,  hate,  will  make 
a  great  wrong  out  of  a  very  small  one ;  but  in  the  true 
forgiveness,  you  ascend  to  a  range  of  feeling  so  high,  so 
immovably  serene,  that  the  greatest  wrong  looks  small 
under  you,  and  quite  as  truly  the  greatest  wrong-doer. 
0,  there  is  no  greatness  possible  to  man,  none  that  lifts 
him  so  nearly  out  of  the  world,  and  above  it,  as  the 
true  Christly  forgiveness.  This  was  the  greatness  of 
Christ  himself  Did  any  being  ever  tread  the  world  in 
such  majesty  as  he?  And  his  wrongs  were  bitter 
enough,  and  his  adversaries  high  enough,  and,  what  is 
quite  as  conspicuous,  he  keeps  the  true  sense  always  of 
their  wrongs,  and  hates  the  hateful  in  their  sins,  and 
feels  a  lit  disgust  for  what  is  disgusting  in  their  charac- 
ter, holding  all  his  judgments  level  and  true,  as  if  he 
were  going  to  proceed  entirely  by  them ;  yet  giving 
himself,  as  it  were  out  of  majesty,  for  the  wrongs  he 
condemns  and  the  enemies  he  is  obliged  to  pity.  Do 
you  call  this  an  humble,  mortifying  key  to  live  in? 
Must  you  shrink  from  this?  Why,  my  friends,  the 
moment  you  are  born  into  this  high  consciousness  you 
will  feel  that  your  heads  strike  heaven  rather. 

Brethren  in  Christ,  let  me  also  turn  the  lessons  of 
this  subject  specially  towards  you;  for  it  was  specially 
Christian  brethren,  even  those  of  Ephesus,  that  the 
apostle  was  addressing  when  he  exhorted — "forgiving 
one  another,  even  as  God  for  Christ's  sake  hath  forgiven 
you." 


388  CHRISTIAN    FORGIVENESS. 

You  have  seen  what  this  forgiveness  means,  what  a 
volunteering  tliere  is  in  it,  how  the  true  Christian  works 
in  it,  long  before  the  forgiveness  is  wanted,  works  in 
sacrifice  and  patience,  even  as  all  love  must.  What  I 
want  therefore  to  know,  mj  brethren,  is  whether  you 
find  this  forgiveness  in  you?  Can  you  give  yourself 
for  your  brother,  or  do  you  hold  off  in  the  stifP  pretense, 
that  he  must  come  to  you  first  and  right  himself?  Can 
yoa  be  the  Christian  tow^ards  him,  or  can  you  more 
easily  hug  your  injury,  as  a  wound  bleeding  internally, 
and  hold  yourself  aloof?  Let  me  tell  you  then  how 
very  bad  the  sign  is,  when  a  Christian  is  slow  to  forgive. 
It  does  not  show,  it  is  true,  that  he  is  a  vicious,  or 
viciously  depraved,  man,  as  other  kinds  of  fault,  or  de- 
viation would,  but  it  shows  a  great  amount  of  unsancti- 
fiod  nature  in  him — none  can  tell  or  guess  how  much. 
For  it  is  our  proud,  wild  nature,  just  that  in  kind, 
though  not  in  degree,  that  is  observed  to  burn  so  inex- 
tinguishably, in  the  bloody  resentments  of  savages, 
which  makes  it  so  hard  for  us  to  forgive.  Therefore, 
if  any  one  finds  it  more  easy  to  stay  in  the  savage  feel- 
ing, than  to  go  after  his  adversary  in  the  Christian,  the 
indication  is  fearfully  bad.  Nay,  it  is  even  a  very  un- 
pleasant and  doubtful  sign,  when  one  has  an  adversary 
long  to  forgive ;  for  when  a  true  Christian  goes  after 
his  adversary,  in  such  temper  as  he  ought,  tender,  as- 
siduous, proving  himself  in  his  love,  by  the  most  faith* 
ful  sacrifices,  he  is  not  like  to  stay  by  his  enmity  long. 
As  the  heat  of  a  warm  day  will  make  even  a  willful 
man  take  off  his  overcoat,  so  the  silent  melting  of  for 


CHRISTIAN    FORGIVENESS.  889 

giveness  at  the  heart  will  compel  it,  even  before  it  ia 
aware,  to  let  the  grudges  go.  Still  a  really  good  man 
may  have  enemies,  all  his  life-long,  even  as  Christ  had, 
and  the  real  blame  may  be  chargeable  not  against  him, 
but  against  them,  and  it  would  be  too  much  to  make 
their  obstinacy  a  certain  proof  against  his  fideHty. 
Enough  that  he  follows  his  Master,  and  allows  them  no 
reasor.  for  their  obstinacy,  by  the  stint  of  his  own 
affectionate  and  self-sacrificing  endeavors.  Commonly 
the  wrong-doer  of  two  parties  will  be  the  most  unfor- 
giving, and,  for  just  that  reason,  the  wrong  sufferer  will 
be  readiest  and  most  forward  in  forgiveness. 

Sometimes  the  alienated,  or  aggrieved  parties,  will 
both  of  them  be  Christian  brethren;  and  how  very  sad 
a  sight  is  it,  and  how  much  to  be  pitied  when  two 
brethren  fall  into  an  enmity !  How  frightfully  fallen  is 
their  look  v/hen  you  look  at  them !  How  much  worse 
their  internal  look  to  themselves !  When  they  go  to 
pray  in  secret,  how  are  they  choked  in  their  prayers ! 
How  very  likely  are  they  also,  to  be  even  choked  off 
soon  from  prayer  itself.  How  certain  are  they  in  this 
manner,  even  against  much  endeavor,  to  go  down  in 
their  piety.  The  warm  heart  they  once  had,  or  seemed 
to  have — where  is  it?  If  they  beamed  in  rich  feeling 
once  on  every  body,  and  it  was  a  blessing  to  meet  them 
and  be  warmed  in  the  glow  of  their  faces,  the  blessing 
and  the  glow  are  soon  gone,  and  we  may  almost  say  the 
fu(*es  too ;  for  there  is  scarcely  any  but  a  negative 
meaning  left  in  them.  O,  ye  pitiable  and  sad  pair  of 
disciples^  that  are  paired  in  your  enmity !     How  easilj 


890  CHRISTIAN    FORGIVENESS. 

and  beautjfull)^  paired  might  jou  be  in  yoni  forgive- 
ness. Go  apart  and  think  of  this !  go  apart  and  pray 
over  it !  Nay,  come  together  and  pray  over  it !  Pray 
especiall}^,  as  you  most  need,  that  God  will  forgive  you, 
even  as  you  forgive  each  other — thus  or — never. 

Sometimes  it  will  happen  that  a  whole  brotherhood 
of  disciples  will  be  scored  and  scorched  b}^  disaffections, 
jealousies,  wounded  feelings  that  are  akin  to  enmit}^,  in 
the  same  manner.  There  is  much  talk  and  a  general 
talking  down  of  course,  and  as  a  famil}^  quarrel  brings 
down  family  respect,  so  it  is  w^hen  brethren  are  set  to 
the  work  of  diminishing  each  other's  worth  and  charac- 
ter. Believe  them  and  they  are  all  no  better  than  they 
should  be.  If  they  once  loved  each  other,  and  were 
■firml}^  locked  together  in  their  common  caxise,  so  much 
the  worse  now,  for  the  dishonor  falls  on  their  tender- 
nesses and  prayers,  and  all  the  good  things  that  seemed 
to  be  in  their  love.  The  Holy  Dove  flies  their  assem- 
blies, or  only  hovers  doubtfully  over  them,  unable  to 
light  where  there  is  no  peace.  When  they  come  to  pray 
together,  it  is  only  locally  together,  and  not  in  spirit  that 
they  pray.  There  is  a  dreary  chill  in  their  assemblies. 
Neither  the  prayers  appear  to  go  up,  nor  the  preaching 
to  come  down.  There  is  no  savoring  element  for  the 
word,  and  of  course  there  is  as  little  due  sense  of  savor 
from  it.  It  is  neither  fire,  nor  hammer,  but  a  chill 
made  audible  rather,  like  the  ripping,  rifting  noises  of 
some  ice-clad  lake  or  river  in  a  silent,  freezing  night 
The  power  is  all  gone,  fatally  benumbed.  The  power 
of  the  word,  the  power  of  the  living  epistle,  that  of  the 


CHRISTIAN    FORGIVENESS.  891 

prayers — every  sort  is  gone,  and  there  is  no  fire  of 
heaven  left. 

"What  then  shall  they  do  ?  Some  of  them  perhaps  will 
finally  begin  to  say,  let  ns  take  the  counsel  of  Lot  and 
Abraham — go  to  the  right,  and  go  to  the  left.  Yes 
but  there  is  a  difference;  these  friends,  Abraham  and 
Lot,  parted  because  they  were  agreed,  not  because  they 
were  at  variance ;  parted  to  save  their  agreement  and 
not  to  comfort  their  repugnances.  Have  then  Christian 
brethren,  under  Christ's  own  gospel,  nothing  better  left, 
than  to  take  themselves  out  of  sight  of  each  other? — 
going  apart  just  to  get  rid  of  forgiveness ;  going  to  carry 
the  rankling  with  them,  live  in  the  bitterness,  die  in  the 
grudges  of  their  untamable  passion?  What  is  our 
gospel  but  a  reconciling  power  even  for  sin  itself,  and 
what  is  it  good  for — cross,  and  love,  and  patience,  and 
all — if  it  can  not  reconcile  ?  No,  there  is  a  better  way ; 
Christ  lays  it  on  them,  by  his  own  dear  passion  where 
he  gave  himself  for  them,  by  his  bloody  sweat,  by  his 
pierced  hands,  and  by  his  open  side,  to  go  about  the 
matter  of  forgiving  one  another  even  as  he  went  about 
forgiving  them.  0,  it  is  a  short  method,  and  how 
beautiful,  and  one  that  never  failed.  When  they  are 
ready  to  go  before  all  relentings,  and  above  all  grudges, 
and  be  weary,  and  sick,  and  sad,  and  sorrowful,  and  so 
to  give  themselves  for  their  adversaries,  weeping  on 
their  necks  in  tender  and  true  confession,  they  will  not 
oe  adversaries  long,  but  tliey  will  be  turning  all  together 
to  the  cross,  and  joining  in  the  prayer — forgive  us  our 
trespasses,  as  we  forgive  those  who  trespass  against  us 


892  CHKISTIAN    FORGIVENESS. 

They  had  much  to  say  before  of  forgiveness,  they  were 
all  ready  to  forgive,  but  they  could  not  find  how  much, 
or  when,  or  how,  because  they  took  forgiveness  in  too 
light  a  key.  Now  they  take  it  in  Christ's  meaning,  and 
how  shortly  are  their  troubles  ended.  They  can  not 
forgive  enough,  or  soon  enough,  or  with  half  as  much 
love  as  they  would.  The  bitterness,  and  wrath,  and 
anger,  and  clamor,  and  evil  speaking,  are  put  away, 
with  all  malice.  They  are  kind  one  to  another,  tender- 
hearted, forgiving  one  another,  EVEN  AS  GoD,  rOR 
Christ's  sake,  has  forgiven  them. 


XIX. 

CHRIST  BEARING  THE  SINS   OF   TRANSGP>'3S0RS. 


"aSo  Christ  was  once  offered  to  hear  the  sins  oj  manyP — 
Eeb.  ix,  28. 

Christ  bearing  our  sins  ouglit  to  be  the  tehderest  and 
most  soul-subduing  of  all  facts  conceivable.  And  yel 
it  may  even  be  made  quite  revolting,  by  the  over  literal, 
and  legally  hard  face  put  upon  it.  Perhaps  I  ought  tc 
say  that  it  too  often  is,  and  that  what  is  given  to  be  the 
new-creating  power  of  God  in  our  lives,  is  made,  in  this 
manner,  to  be  an  offense  that  even  balks  our  repent- 
ances. What  I  propose  then,  at  the  present  time^  is  to 
answer,  in  a  very  practical  way,  the  very  practical 
question — 

In  what  sense,  or  manner^  is  it  that  Christ  hears  the  sins 
of  the  ivorld  f 

To  make  the  answer  clear,  I  begin  by  specifying  some 
things  which  are  not  to  be  understood  by  it. 

Thus  we  are  not  to  understand  that  the  sins  of  the 
world  are  put  upon  him,  or  transferred  to  him,  so  as  to 
be  his.  That  is  impossible.  Guilt  is  a  matter  sc  strictly 
and  eternally  personal,  that  nobody  can  be  in  it^  but  the 
transgressor  himself  to  whom  it  belongs.  Apart  from 
him  it  is  nothing.     Strike  him  out  of  existence  and  it 


394  CHRIST    BEARING    THE    SINS 

no  longer  exists.  The  bad  conscience,  the  blame,  the 
damning  self-conviction,  is  a^  incommunicablj  his,  evei) 
as  his  brain,  or  his  will.  Indeed,  the  creatorship  of  the 
world  can  as  well  be  transferred,  as  the  doership  of  a 
sin.  The  meum  and  tuum  of  property  can  be  transfer- 
led,  but  the  meum  and  tuum  of  sin  is  even  absolute.  If 
I  !)we  a  debt,  another  man  can  make  himself  a  debtor  in 
my  place,  but  if  I  am  a  felon,  no  other  man  can  be  the 
felon  for  me. 

It  follows,  in  the  same  view,  that  Christ  does  not  bear 
our  sins  in  the  sense  that  he  bears  our  punishment. 
Everlasting  justice  forbids  any  such  commutation  of 
places  in  punishment.  What  is  this  justice?  An  in- 
dignation against  wrong  that  wants  pain  out  of  some- 
body, caring  only  that  the  quantum  be  made  up  ?  Or 
is  it,  rather,  an  indignation  against  the  wrong-doer  him- 
self, and  no  other  ?  I^o  matter  if  another  consents  to  bear 
that  indignation,  and  suffer  all  the  deserved  pains  of  the 
wrong-doer,  when  that  second  person  comes  to  offer 
himself,  God's  justice  will  forthwith  object  in  the 
question — "Are  you  guilty  of  this  man's  sin  ?  Doubt- 
less you  may  be  his  friend,  but  the  only  thing  you  can 
do  for  him  is  to  be  innocence  in  him,  and  you  can  as 
well  do  that  as  to  be  guilty  instead  of  him.  But  as  long 
us  you  are  innocence  yourself,  what  kind  of  transaction 
is  it  that  you  undertake,  when  you  come  to  be  punished 
in  innocence?  "What  opinion  have  you  of  n\j  justice, 
when  you  expect  me  to  release  the  pains  deserved,  if 
only  I  can  get  enough  that  are  not  deserved?  Did  I 
ever  threaten  to  punish  the  guilty  man,  or  soniebodj 


OF    TRANSGRESSORS.  895 

else,  wIkii  my  law  should  be  broken?  Yoa  ask  more 
tlian  is  possible,  when  you  ask  me  to  smooth  over  even 
tlie  everlasting  distinctions  of  principle,  and  be  satisfied 
with  the  punishment  of  innocence.  I  can  only  be  re- 
vclted  by  the  thought,  and  should  be  everlastingly  by 
the  deed." 

Again,  it  is  not  conceivable  that  Christ  bears  our  sin, 
in  the  sense  that  the  abhorrence  of  God  to  our  sin  ia 
laid  upon  him,  and  expressed  through,  and  by  means 
of,  his  sufferings.  How  can  God  Isij  abhorrence  upon 
what  is  not  abhorrent?  Is  he  going  to  abhor  goodness, 
truth,  beauty  itself?  And  if  Jesus,  being  all  this,  comes 
in  as  a  volunteer  into  the  place  of  transgressors,  chal- 
lenging upon  him^self  the  abhorrence  due  to  them,  will 
God  falsify  and  mock  all  his  own  approving  judgments 
and  moral  affinities,  by  acting  an  abhorrence  which  he 
must  renounce  every  one  of  his  perfections  to  feel? 
Perhaps  it  will  be  imagined  that  he  only  puts  great 
pains  on  Christ,  which  we  ourselves  are  to  look  upon  as 
tokens  of  abhorrence  to  us.  That  would  be  very  in- 
genious in  us,  but  how  are  we  going  to  take  up  such  a 
thought?  In  the  first  place,  God  did  not  inflict  those 
pains,  but  we  ourselves.  Are  we  then  going  to  put 
Christ  to  death  and  take  it  up  as  a  religious  discovery, 
having  a  gospel  in  it,  that  God's  abhorrence  to  us  is  so 
far  expressed  by  our  very  abominable  deed  of  murder, 
that  it  need  not  be  any  more,  by  our  punishment  ?  We 
3an  easily  enough  imagine  God's  abhorrence,  in  such  a 
case,  to  the  sin  perpetrated,  and  the  murderers  by  whom 
it  is  perpetrated,  but  the  difficulty  is  to  get  either  Christ 


396  CHRIST    BEARING    THE    SINS 

or  his  suffering  into  the  same  line ;  for  the  last  thing  anj 
human  soul  can  think  of  will  be,  that  God's  abhorrence 
touches  him  any  how,  or  looks  out  anj  where  from  h-a 
pains. 

We  come  now,  having  dismissed  these  rather  common 
misconceptions,  to  the  positive  matter  of  the  question, 
or  the  positive  answer  to  be  given.  And  here  let  me 
indicate,  beforehand,  a  certain  point  of  fact  that  will 
probably  distinguish  any  true  answer ;  viz.,  that  Christ, 
in  bearing  the  sins  of  transgressors,  simply  fulfills  prin- 
ciples of  duty,  or  holiness,  that  are  common  to  all  moral 
beings,  and  does  it  as  being  obliged  by  those  principles. 
If  there  is  any  fundamental  truth  in  morals,  it  is  that 
there  is  no  superlative  kind  of  merit  or  excellence; 
that  as  far  as  kind  is  concerned,  the  same  kind  is  for 
all,  and  there  is  no  other.  Thus,  if  Christ  has  it  in- 
cumbent on  him,  as  a  point  of  beneficence,  or  love,  to 
bear  the  sins  of  transgressors,  it  will  be  incumbent  on 
every  moral  being  in  the  universe,  ourselves  included, 
to  bear  sins ;  only  not  perhaps  in  the  same  degree,  or 
with  the  same  effect.  If  he  is  to  be  a  sacrifice  for  sin, 
it  will  be  laid  upon  us  to  be,  every  man,  a  sacrifice  and 
an  offering  in  like  manner,  only  not  to  accomplish  all 
the  same  results.  We  are  not  then  to  look  for  some 
artificial,  theologically  contrived,  never  before  heard  of, 
kind  of  good,  in  the  bearing  of  sins,  but  simply  to  look 
after  what  lies  in  the  first  principles  of  religious  love  and 
devotion,  as  related  to  the  conduct  of  all.  Having  thii 
intent  in  view  I  shall  make  out — 


OF    TRANSGRESSORS.  397 

T  A  general  or  inclusive  answer  to  the  question,  and 
then,  secondly,  a  threefold,  particular  answer,  the  points 
of  which  are  included  under  it.  The  general  is  this — 
that  Christ  bears  the  sins  of  the  world  in  a  certain  rep- 
resentative sense,  analogous  to  that  in  which  the  priests 
and  the  sacrifices  of  the  former  altar-service,  bore  the 
sins  of  the  people  worshiping.  The  phrase,  "he  shall 
bear  his  sin,"  or  "bear  his  iniquity,"  means,  it  is  true, 
when  applied  to  the  guilty  person,  that  he  shall  be  pun- 
ished for  his  sin.  But  when  it  is  applied,  as  it  is  many 
times,  to  the  priests  and  sacrifices  at  the  altar,  we  are 
not  to  conceive  that  the  priests,  or  the  altar  victims, 
have  the  guilt  actually  put  upon  them — nothing  could 
be  more  absurd — but  we  are  to  take  the  words  in  an 
accommodated,  ritually  formal  sense,  where  the  same 
thing  is  true  representatively ;  the  design  being  to  let  the 
people  feel  or  believe,  that  their  sins  are  being  taken 
away,  as  if  put  over  upon  the  priests,  or  upon  the  head 
of  the  victims.  Not  to  multiply  instances,  we  have  the 
phrase  "  to  bear  sins  "  used  in  both  senses  in  a  single 
passage,  (Numb,  xviii,  22,  23) — "Neither  must  the 
children  of  Israel  henceforth  come  near  the  tabernacle 
of  the  congregation,  lest  they  bear  sin  [that  is,  their 
own  sin]  and  die.  But  the  Levites  shall  do  the  service 
of  the  tabernacle  of  the  congregation,  and  they  shall  bear 
their  iniquity."  No  one  will  be  so  absurd  as  to  imagine, 
that  the  iniquity  of  the  people  is  here  declared  to  be 
literally  put  on  the  priesthood.  They  are  only  to  bear 
it  representatively,  coming  so  far  in  place  of  the  people 
before  God,  as  to  conduct  their  sacrifice  for  them,  and 

34 


o98    ,  CHKIST    BEARING    THE    SINS 

ns  God  accepts  the  sacrifice,  put  them  in  the  state,  for- 
mally at  least,  of  reconciliation.  In  a  similarly  repie- 
sentative  sense,  the  prophet  Ezekiel  lies  upon  his  left 
side  three  hundred  and  ninety  days,  "bearing,"  as  he 
says,  "the  iniquity  of  the  house  of  Israel,"  and  upon  his 
right  side  forty  days  "  bearing  the  iniquity  of  the  house 
of  Judah;"  where  it  is  simply  meant  that  the  iniquity 
was  made  visible  representatively  in  that  sign.  So 
when  "all  the  iniquities  of  the  children  of  Israel,  and  all 
their  transgressions  in  all  their  sins,"  were  put,  as  we 
read,  upon  the  head  of  their  scape-goat,  and  he  was 
driven  out  into  the  desert,  they  knew  not  where,  there 
was  neither  any  sin  upon  the  goat,  nor  any  punishment. 
The  reality  of  the  whole  matter  stood  in  what  was  rep- 
resentatively signified ;  viz.,  the  removal  and  clearance 
of  their  sin. 

And  here  is  the  ready  solution  of  all  those  expressions 
in  the  Kew  Testament,  which  are  brought  OA^er  from  the 
priesthood  and  sacrifices  of  the  Old  Testament,  and  used, 
with  so  great  power,  to  represent  the  relation  of  Christ 
to'  the  sins  of  the  world.  Thus  he  is  declared  to  be 
"  made  sin  for  us,"  just  as  the  Levites  were,  in  bearing 
the  iniquities  of  the  congregation.  Thus  also  it  is  de- 
clared that  he  "was  once  offered  to  bear  the  sins  of 
many."  The  meaning  is  that  he  comes  representatively 
in  our  place,  undertaking,  or  taking  on  himself,  the  case 
of  our  sin,  even  as  the  priests  at  the  altar  did.  Such 
forms  of  speech  come  to  be  natural,  as  it  were,  to  the 
Jewish  mind,  under  the  uses  of  their  ritual,  and  pass 
into  new  applications  of  a  different  shade.     Thus  Paul 


OF    TRANSGRESSORS.  89G 

speaks  of  Christ  "  being  made  a  curse  for  us."  Eegard- 
ing  Christ  as  having  come  into  our  state  of  corporate 
evil,  under  the  curse,  and  borne  the  bitterness  of  it,  and 
at  so  great  expense  delivered  us  from  it,  he  takes  up  the 
representative  figure  of  the  altar-service,  and  shows  him, 
in  that  manner,  bearing  the  curse  for  us.  He  does  not 
mean  that  Christ  was  literally  and  legally  substituted, 
in  the  matter  of  our  punishment,  but  that  he  was  sub- 
stituted, as  the  priests  were,  in  bearing  the  sins  of  the 
people,  and  with  a  like  result.  Thus  also  Peter  says,  in 
the  fervor  of  his  obligation  to  Christ — "  Who  his  own 
self  bare  our  sins,  in  his  own  body  on  the  tree;"  as  if 
our  very  sins  were  personally  chastised,  or  punished,  in 
the  pains  of  his  cross;  and  yet  he  does  not  say  it,  but 
turns  the  sentence,  in  what  follows,  in  a  way  to  show 
that  he  means  no  such  thing — "  that  we  being  dead  to 
sin,  might  live  unto  righteousness ;  by  whose  stripes  ye 
were  healed."  After  all  he  is  only  showing,  at  what 
expense,  Christ  takes  us  away  from  our  sin,  and  makes 
us  "  live  unto  righteousness."  And  though  he  speaks 
of  "stripes,"  a  penal  word,  he  does  not  say  "by  whose 
stripes  God's  justice  was  satisfied,"  but,  "by  whose 
stripes  ye  were  healed." 

Christ  then  bears  our  sin,  we  answer  inclusively  and 
generally,  in  the  sense  that  he  has  come  representatively 
into  our  place  and  got  such  power  in  us  by  his  sacrifice, 
as  to  take  it  wholly  away. 

Pause  here  now  a  moment  at  the  threshold,  and  raise 
the  question,  whether  we,  as  human  beings,  can  have 
any  thing  in  common   with   him,  in  such   a  sacrifice? 


400  CHRIST    BEARING    THE    SIN'S 

Of  course  we  can  not  do  the  same  things ;  for  we  have 
not  the  same  grade  of  character  and  power  over  human 
sentiment,  nor  the  same  undertaking  for  the  world  upon 
us.  We  are  sinners  ourselves,  wanting,  for  outfit  in 
(httj,  just  that  taking  away  of  sin  and  renewing  in  good, 
which  are  to  be  the  fruit  of  his  sacrifice.  It  is  not  to  be 
expected,  therefore,  that  we  shall  come  into  any  such 
answering  for  sin,  as  to  have  the  representative  figures 
of  the  altar  applied  to  us ;  unless  it  be  in  ways  more 
restricted  and  partial.  We  shall  only  follow  him,  as 
our  very  much  abused  faculty,  and  humbler  key  of 
being,  allow  us  to  follow. 

Still  it  is  remarkable  how  many  of  the  scripture  terms 
of  sacrifice  and  priestly  intervention  are  applied  to 
Christian  disciples,  and  how  constantly  they  are  called 
to  maintain  precisely  the  way  of  the  cross.  Nothing, 
in  fact,  is  farther  off  from  the  New  Testament,  than  to 
conceive  that  Christ  is  in  a  superlative  kind  of  virtue, 
inappropriate,  or  impossible,  to  mortals. 

Thus  we  are  called  to  be  sacrifices  and  priests  of  sacri- 
fice. "  I  beseech  you  therefore,  brethren,  by  the  mercies 
of  God,  [that  is,  in  Jesus  Christ,]  that  you  present  your 
bodies  a  living  sacrifice,  [in  the  same  manner,]  holy, 
acceptable  to  God,  which  is  your  reasonable  service," 
[the  dictate  of  your  moral  nature  as  it  was  of  his.]  The 
phrase  "  acceptable  to  God,"  you  will  also  observe,  is  a 
sacrificial  phrase,  bearing  an  allusion  to  God's  acceptance 
of  the  sin  offerings.  And,  in  this  sense,  it  occurs  again 
— "Ye  also,  as  lively  stones,  are  built  up  a  spiritual 
house,  an  holy  priesthood,  to  offer  up  spiritual  sacrifices 


OF    TRANSGRESSOKS.  401 

acceptable  to  God  by  Jesus  Christ."  The  disciples  are 
taken  often  as  being  thus  a  priesthood,  all,  with  their 
Master — "Kings  and  priests  unto  God,"  "entering  into 
the  holiest  with  boldness ;"  entering  in  thither  also  to 
act  the  part  of  intercessors — to  anoint  and  raise  up  the 
sick,  as  James  represents ;  to  obtain  forgiveness  of  sins 
for  the  brethren  that  have  committed  sin ;  to  con  vert 
sinning  brethren  from  the  error  of  their  ways,  in  such 
a  sense  as  to  be  in  fact  their  human  saviours — "saving 
their  souls  from  death  and  hiding  the  multitude  of  their 
sins."  And  this  word  hiding  it  should  also  be  observed 
is  a  word  of  sacrificial  atonement ;  for  to  atone  is  liter- 
ally to  cover^  that  is,  to  hide ;  put  away,  forever,  make 
as  naught.  Not  that  we  are  to  do  these  things  in  our 
own  right,  and  by  our  own  power,  as  Christ  did,  but; 
as  in  the  language  just  now  cited,  "  by  Jesus  Christ." 
The  conception  is  that  our  life  is  to  be  so  far  in  the 
analogy  of  his,  and  moved  by  his  inspirations,  that  the 
same  words,  priest,  sacrifice,  intercession,  saving  of  souls, 
converting  sinners,  hiding,  or  covering  sins,  will  be  fitly 
applied  to  us — that  is,  in  senses  modified  by  our  human 
capacities  and  conditions. 

Having  sketched  this  general  outline  of  what  is  to  be 
understood  by  the  bearing  of  sins,  we  now  proceed — 

II.  To  fill  up  the  outline  by  a  more  particular  state- 
ment of  the  subject  matter  included  under  it.  Christ, 
we  have  seen,  bears  the  sins  of  the  world  representa- 
tivsly,  in  a  figure,  ni  ich  as  the  priesthood  or  the  scape- 
goat bore  them,  only  procuring  an  absolution  for  them 

34* 


i02  CHRIST    BEARING    THE    SINS 

as  much  more  real  and  spiritual,  as  th(^,  heavenly  things 
themselves  are  more  quickening  and  substantial  in  him, 
than  their  shadows  in  the  forms  of  the  altar.  This  Ibi 
the  general  statement;  which  includes,  we  shall  find, 
when  w^e  look  into  the  subject  matter  of  his  life  more 
closely,  three  particular  modes,  or  distinctly  and  ration- 
ally conceived  methods,  of  bearing  sin  by  him,  in  big 
mission  as  a  Redeemer. 

1.  He  bears  the  sin  of  the  world,  by  that  assumption 
which  his  love  must  needs  make  of  it.  Love  puts  every 
being,  from  the  eternal  God  downward,  into  the  case  of 
all  sufferers,  wrong-doers,  and  enemies,  to  assume  their 
8vils,  and  be  concerned  for  them.  Being  love,  it  as- 
sumes their  loss,  danger,  present  suffering,  suffering  to 
be ;  all  their  w^ant,  sorrow,  shame,  and  disorder ;  and 
goes  into  their  case  to  restore  and  save.  As  a  father, 
who  has  a  dear  son  straying  from  honor  and  virtue,  as- 
sumes that  son  to  be  an  inevitable  burden  on  his  love, 
and  bears  him,  sin  and  all,  as  a  heavy  load  upon  his 
feeling,  striving  after  him  in  many  tears,  and  prayers, 
and  weary  contrivings,  and  it  may  be  under  great  per- 
sonal abuse,  that  he  may  regain  him  to  a  better  life,  just 
so  God  assumes  in  Christ  all  transgressors  and  ene- 
mies, and  all  their  sin,  and  all  their  coming  woes,  and 
bears  them  on  his  paternal  feeling,  through  great  waves 
of  living  conflict  and  dying  passion — "  For  God  so  loved 
the  w^orld  that  he  gave  his  onlj^  begotten  son,  that 
w^hosoever  believeth  in  him  should  not  perish  but  have 
everlasting  life."  The  assumption  is  such  that  we  may 
even  look  upon  it  and  speak  of  it,  as  a  kind  of  substitu 


OF    TRANSGRESSORS.  403 

tion.  Hence  the  strongly  substitutional  language  em- 
ployed concerning  it.  But  there  is  no  room  for  mis- 
taking the  meaning  of  such  language.  The  precise  nar- 
ture  of  the  assumption,  or  substitution,  is  given  when 
the  evangelist  says  of  Christ's  healing  works — "  That  i? 
might  be  fulfilled  that  was  spoken  by  Esaias  the 
prophet,  himself  took  our  infirmities,  and  bare  our  sick- 
nesses." It  does  not  mean  that  Christ  literally  took  into 
his  body,  and  bore,  himself,  all  the  fevers,  pains,  lame- 
nesses, blindnesses,  leprosies  he  healed,  but  simply  that 
he  took  them  upon  his  sympathy,  bore  them  as  a  burden 
upon  his  compassionate  love.  In  that  sense,  exactly,  he 
assumed  and  bore  the  sins  of  the  world ;  not  that  he  be- 
came the  sinner  and  suffered  the  due  punishment  himself, 
but  that  he  took  them  on  his  love,  and  put  himself  by 
mighty  throes  of  feeling,  and  sacrifice,  and  mortal  passion, 
to  the  working  out  of  their  deliverance.  And  these 
were  the  throes  in  which  we  find  him  often  struggling; 
declaring  now  that  his  soul  is  troubled,  heaving  now,  in 
prostrate  weakness,  and  bloody  sweat,  on  the  ground. 
In  these  throes  he  died,  saying,  "It  is  finished" — viz., 
the  bearing  of  sins  that  he  had  undertaken  to  bear. 
The  sins  were  never  his,  the  deserved  pains  never 
touched  him  as  being  deserved,  but  they  were  upon  his 
feeling  in  so  heavy  a  burden  as  to  make  him  sigh,  "my 
soul  is  exceeding  sorrowful."  And  just  because  the 
world  in  sin  took  hold  of  his  feeling  in  this  manner,  was 
he  aole,  in  turn,  to  get  hold  of  the  feeling  of  the  world, 
and  become  its  true  deliverer  and  Saviour.  In  this  fact 
lay  oosomed  the  everlasting  gospel. 


404  CHRIST    BEARING    THE    SINS 

Let  me  not  be  understood  now,  in  transferring  this 
analogy,  to  say,  or  suggest,  that  Christ  came  into  such 
a  life  of  sympathy  and  death  of  passion,  just  to  give  U3 
an  example  which  we  are  to  copy.  Nothing  could  be 
more  impotent,  or  farther  from  the  truth.  Giving  and 
copying  examples  is  too  tame  a  rrjatter  to  be  conceived 
as  making  out  a  gospeL  Ko,  Christ  took  our  sin  upon 
him  in  this  manner  and  bore  it  as  the  burden  of  his 
mission,  just  because  it  was  in  his  love  to  doit;  and 
that  same  love,  in  any  being,  of  any  world,  in  us  just 
struggling  up  out  of  our  lowness  and  bondage,  will  put 
us,  in  our  human  grade,  and  according  to  the  measure 
of  our  love,  on  making  the  same  kind  of  assumption. 
We  shall  take  the  child  of  sin,  or  sorrow,  our  friend, 
our  enemy,  any  one,  every  one  we  see  to  be  in  cahI,  on 
our  feeling,  and  make  him  a  charge  upon  our  sacrifices 
and  prayers.  Paul  knew  exactly  what  this  meant  when 
he  said — "  Bear  ye  one  another's  burdens  and  so  fulfill 
the  law  of  Christ;" — that  is,  the  eternal  love-law,  or 
standard  of  obligation,  that  he  himself  fulfilled.  Paul 
had  the  meaning  too,  the  very  Gethsemane  of  it,  in  his 
own  heart,  when  he  cried,  under  his  burden — "  I  have 
great  heaviness,  and  continual  sorrow  in  my  heart.  For 
I  could  wish  that  myself  were  accursed  from  Christ  for 
my  brethren,  my  kinsmen,  according  to  the  flesh."  And 
he  same  we  find  recurring,  in  one  form  or  another,  in  all 
the  apostles,  all  the  brethren.  When  they  hear  the  Mas- 
ter lay  it  on  them  to  minister — "  Even  as  the  Son  of  Man 
same,  not  to  be  n^inistered  unto,  but  to  minister  and  to , 
give  his  life  a  ransom  for  many  " — they  take  the  sense 


OF    TRANSGRESSORS.  405 

of  it;  for,  "having  his  love  in  them,  they  are  not  afraid 
to  find  a  cross  of  sacrifice  in  the  love,  just  the  cross  that 
he  called  them  to  bear  as  followers.  Thus  also  it  is  that 
he  institutes  a  communion  for  them,  and  calls  them  to 
show  forth  his  death ;  by  which  he  means,  not  that  they 
are  to  simply  remember  his  death,  or  make  mention  of 
it,  but  that  they  are  to  show  the  love  that  can  bear  sins 
with  him,  and  be  a  sacrifice  even  up  to  that  stern  limit. 

O,  what  a  calling  is  this,  my  brethren,  the  bearing  of 
sins,  with  Christ.  Of  course  you  have  not  the  same 
things  to  do  that  he  had,  or  the  same  capacity  to  do 
them ;  you  have  not  even  the  same  things  to  do,  one  as 
another ;  but  if  his  love  has  really  been  quickened  in 
you,  the  fact  will  be  known  by  the  burdens  that  have 
come  upon  your  heart;  covetousness,  world-greedi- 
ness, self-indulgence,  prejudices,  resentments,  feelings 
wounded  by  injury — none  of  these  will  hold  3^0 u  ;  but 
there  will  be  a  most  dear  love  going  forth  in  you,  not 
to  your  friends  only,  but  even  more  consciously  to  your 
enemies,  and  Grod's  enemies.  There  will  be  times  when 
you  seem  to  be  well  nigh  crushed,  by  the  concern  you 
feel  and  the  burdens  you  bear.  Is  it  so  with  you?  Is 
it  here  that  you  sometimes  find  even  joiit  joy — the  same 
w^hich  Christ  himself  had  and  bequeathed  to  you? 
Have  you  found,  as  every  mother,  for  example,  has. 
and  ever}'-  Christian  may,  that  love-pains  are  the  deepest 
attainable  joys ;  tragic  exaltations  of  a  consciously  great 
feeling  that,  in  bearing  enemies  and  sins,  challenges 
eternal  affinity  with  Christ  and  with  God  ? 

2.  It  is  another  and  equally  true  conception  of  the 


i06  CHKIST    BEARING    THE    SINS 

hearing  of  sins  by  Clirist,  that  he  is  incarnated  into  the 
state  of  sin,  including  all  the  corporate  woes  of  penalty, 
or  natural  retribution,  under  it — woes  that  infest  the 
w^orld,  the  body,  and  the  social  and  political  depart' 
ments  of  human  affairs.  These  disorders  and  mischiefs 
comprehend  what  is  called,  in  scripture,  "  the  curse ;"  for 
the  curse  is  just  that  state  of  retributive  disorder,  and 
disjunction,  that  follows,  under  natural  laws,  the  out- 
])reak  of  sin  The  virus  of  disease,  possibly  of  all  dis- 
ease, is  generated  under  and  by  these  laws.  Natural 
causes  are  beneficent  henceforth,  only  in  the  qualified 
sense,  that  they  are  attacking  sin  with  due  mixtures  of 
pain,  as  well  as  with  favors  undeserved.  Dreadful  su- 
perstitions cloud  the  general  understanding.  Truth  is 
obscured.  Passion  is  made  coarse  and  violent.  Envies, 
ambitions,  grudges,  hatreds,  are  loosened,  and  bloody 
wrongs  are  instigated  everywhere  by  them.  Oppres- 
sions, persecutions,  rebellions,  wars,  roll  across  the  na- 
tions, and  turn  the  world's  history  into  a  kind  of  Acel- 
dama. This  now  is  the  curse,  the  corporate  woe  of  the 
world,  and  when  Christ  comes  down  into  the  world  to 
be  incarnate  in  it,  and  do  his  work  of  love,  he  enters 
himself  into  its  corporate  evils,  and  takes  them  just  as 
they  are ;  even  as  a  man,  plunging  into  the  sea,  w^ould 
take  the  waves  and  the  monsters  coursing  in  it  as 
they  are.  All  which  is  described  by  an  apostle,  when 
he  says,  that  Christ  "  was  made  a  curse  for  us."  Nor, 
when  he  adds,  "  for  it  is  wa^tten,  cursed  is  every  one 
that  hangeth  on  a  tree,"  does  he  mean  to  say  that  Christ 
is  made  a  curse  for  us  only  in  the  sense  that  he  is 


OF    TRANSGRESSORS.  407 

crucified,  or  at  the  particular  point  of  liis  crucifixion ; 
he  merely  drops  in  this  allusion,  touching  that  particular 
point,  taken  as  a  good  type  of  all  that  he  does  and 
suffers  in  the  world ;  for  he  meets  the  corporate  woe 
and  retribution  of  the  world  at  every  step.  His  body, 
as  being  born  of  the  flesh,  has  the  mortal  maladies  and 
temptations  of  the  curse  working  subtly  in  it.  When 
there  is  no  room  at  the  inn  but  only  in  the  manger,  that 
is  the  corporate  mischief  and  curse  of  society,  where  the 
great  rule  down  the  humble,  and  respect  goes  only  by 
appearances.  The  jealousy  of  Herod  is  the  curse,  before 
which  he  flies  into  Egypt.  The  bigotry  of  the  priests 
was  the  curse.  The  slowness  of  his  friends,  the  denial 
by  one,  the  betrayal  by  another,  the  flight  of  all,  was 
the  curse.  The  chief  priests  and  the  rabbis,  and  the 
council,  and  Pilate,  and  Herod,  all  combined  against 
nim,  only  represent  the  corporate  wrath,  and  wrong, 
and  curse,  of  the  world.  Incarnated  thus  into  the  curse, 
he  had  the  living  contact  of  it  at  every  breath.  The 
waves  of  Grod's  retribution  dashed  against  him  all  the 
way,  as  he  waded  through  on  his  course.  Innocent  he 
was,  but  had  none  of  the  rights,  or  proper  fortunes,  of 
innocence.  Not  that  any  thing  befell  him  as  punish- 
ment, and  yet  he  was  scorching,  every  hour,  under  the 
great  world's  corporate  evils ;  those  which  God's  retri- 
butions had  kindled  for  the  chastisement  of  its  sin. 
And  why  is  he  here,  for  what  is  he  bearing  thus  the  sin 
of  the  world?  Wot  that  he  may  suffer,  not  that  he  may 
idly  brave  so  much  of  suffering — of  what  possible  use 
were  this  ? — no,  but  he  is  here  because  he  has  an  errand 


408  CHRIST    BEARING    THE    SINS 

that  brought  him,  or  required  him  to  come.  His  olject 
is  to  gain  the  human  heart;  and,  to  do  it,  he  must  open 
the  heart  of  God ;  and  to  do  that,  he  must  not  come 
flying  over  the  world,  but  must  be  incarnated  into  it, 
put  upon  the  same  human  footing  in  his  human  life,  that 
we  are — all  this  to  make  God's  feeling  intelligible,  or 
what  is  the  same,  to  open  God's  sympathies  to  us,  and 
open  our  sympathies  to  God ;  thus  to  beget  us  anew  in 
God's  likeness.  If  he  had  come  to  be  an  exceptional 
man,  whom  the  waves  of  the  world's  corporate  evils 
could  not  touch,  or  if  he  had  come  as  a  man  of  brass, 
not  to  feel  their  touch,  he  were  in  fact  nothing  to  us. 
But  now  that  we  have  him  struggling  in  the  waves  with 
us,  touched  with  all  our  infirmities,  and  bearing,  in 
deep  sympathy,  all  our  human  evils,  0,  how  tenderly 
do  we  cling  to  him  and  what  strength  do  we  get  from 
his  power  and  patience  in  our  hearts ! 

Now,  my  friends,  it  would  seem,  at  first  view,  to  be 
very  wide  of  all  possibility,  that  we  should  be  called  to 
any  such  bearing  of  sin  as  this.  Are  we  going  to  be 
incarnated  like  our  divine  Master  ?  Even  so !  Drop- 
ping only  the  form  of  the  word,  the  coming  into  flesh, 
it  is  no  inconsiderable  part  of  our  dignity  and  God-like- 
ness in  sacrifice,  that  we  are  able  to  go  directly  down 
into  the  corporate  evils  of  men,  for  their  good ! — into 
some  house,  for  example,  or  village,  or  city,  where  a 
dreadful  pestilence  rages,  to  minister  to  their  sick  ones 
and  comfort  their  dying;  into  the  disgusts  of  low  and 
filthy  society,  where  vice  rages,  rescuing  the  victims 
and   their   children;    into    works    of   reformation,    or 


OF    TKANSGRESSORS.  409 

maintenances  of  truth,  that  are  unpopular,  just  because 
society  has  lost  the  truth.  Christ  bids  you  make  a  feast 
and  call  the  lame,  the  halt,  and  the  blind,  passing,  for 
the  time,  into  their  range  of  sympathy — what  is  that  but 
a  kind  of  incarnation,  like  that  which  brought  him  down 
out  of  heaven's  orders  of  glory,  into  the  lame  and  hah- 
irg  sorrows  of  our  human  apostasy.  When,  too,  you  go 
out,  in  God's  love,  into  scenes  of  dissipation,  or  of 
splendid  profligacy,  it  is  an  almost  literal  incarnation — 
a  going  into  the  flesh  to  be  tempted  as  Christ  was. 
Perhaps  you  are  just  now  in  the  question,  whether  you 
shall  forsake  the  refinements  and  comforts  of  a  Christian 
home,  and  go  down  as  a  missionar}^,  for  all  your  future 
life,  into  the  level  of  a  barbarous  and  idolatrous  people, 
where  your  motives  will  not,  for  many  long  years,  be 
even  so  much  as  conceived,  where  your  sjanpathies  will 
oe  repelled,  your  operations  looked  on  with  jealousy, 
your  beginnings  crushed  by  violence,  and  many  a  sad 
long  night  of  tears  and  groanings,  witness  your  Geth- 
semane?  Will  you  go,  or  wdll  you  not?  What  is  it, 
in  fact,  but  the  question,  whether  you  can  be  incarnated 
w^ith  your  Master,  under  a  little  different  version  of  the 
word  ?  Almost  half  our  duties  come  to  us  in  this  shape, 
raising  the  question,  whether  we  can  take  the  corporate 
evils  of  some  condition  that  is  unpopular,  distasteful, 
'in appreciative,  hostile,  or  without  dignity  ?  In  these 
Inings  it  is  one  of  our  greatest  privileges  to  follow,  and 
know  that  we  follow,  our  Master--are  we  ready  ? 

3.  Christ  bears  the  sin  of  the  world,  in  the  sense  that 
be  be^-rs,  Gonsentingl\^,  the  direct  attacks  of  wrong,  or 

35 


4.10  CHRIST    BEARING    THE    SINS 

sId,  upon  his  person;  doing  it,  of  course,  in  but  a  few 
instances,  such  as  may  have  been  included  in  his  com- 
parativel}^  short  life,  but  showing,  in  those  few  instances, 
bow  all  the  human  wrongs  are  related  to  his  feeling,  or 
would  be  if  he  suffered  them  all.  And  here  again  it  is 
that  he  gets  an  amazing  power,  as  a  redeemer,  over  the 
sins  of  the  world.  He  did  not  come  into  the  world  to 
sulfer  these  wrongs  as  an  end,  or  to  brave  them  by  an 
ostentation  of  patience,  as  possibly  some  may  under- 
stand, when  they  hear  him  commanding  one  who  is 
smitten  on  one  cheek  to  turn  the  other.  He  is  not 
counseling,  in  such  words,  a  defiant,  but  only  a  total, 
non-resistance.  Coming  into  the  world  thus  as  the  in 
carnate  Word  of  God,  God  manifest  in  the  flesh,  he 
bears  the  wrong-doing  of  sin,  not  defiantly,  but  as  feel- 
ing after  the  sin  ;  letting  it  see  what  wrong  it  has  in  its 
own  nature  to  do,  when  the  Son  of  God  comes  to  it 
ministering  love  and  forgiveness.  And  what  a  spectacle 
is  this  to  look  upon  !  the  Eternal  King  coming  in  love  to 
win  transgression  back — mocked  in  his  doctrine,  hated 
for  his  miracles,  insulted,  struck,  spit  upon,  crucified! 
And  the  more  strangely  impressive  is  the  spectacle,  that 
the  sufferer  is  dumb,  makes  no  protestation  of  his  rights, 
parries  no  accusation,  answers  none.  Pilate  himself  is 
"afraid"  before  such  dignity.  All  that  he  will  answer 
is,  that  he  is  come  into  the  world  "to  bear  witness  to 
the  truth."  He  does  not  say  that  he  is  here  to  bear  the 
worst  they  can  do  upon  him,  nor  that  he  is  here  to  suffer 
at  all  as  an  end,  but  that  his  end  is  everlasting  truth. 
That  accordingly  which  so  visibly  shook  the  courage  of 


OF    TRANSGRESSOIlb.  411 

Pilate,  at  the  trial,  fell  with  as  heavy  a  sliock,  on  all 
sin,  everywhere,  afterwards.  When  the  sin  found  such 
a  being,  even  the  incarnate  Word  of  the  Father,  taking 
its  blows,  in  such  patience,  and  dying  under  the  blows, 
how  dreadful  the  recoil  of  feeling  it  suffered !  How 
wild,  and  weak,  and  low,  was  it  made  to  appear  in  itj- 
own  sight.  Thus  it  was  that,  in  his  bearing  of  sin  upon 
his  cross,  Christ  broke  it  down  forever.  Or,  if  it  better 
please,  thus  it  was  that  sin  broke  itself  across  the  silence 
of  Jesus,  and  the  wood,  and  the  nails,  of  his  cross.  And 
thus  it  was  that  the  just  now  angry  multitudes,  "all  the 
people  that  came  together  to  see  that  sight,  beholding 
the  things  that  were  done,  smote  their  breasts  and  re- 
turned." All  sin  was  broken,  as  it  were,  in  that  sight ; 
it  was  the  sight  of  Lucifer  falling  from  heaven,  even  as 
he  had  testified  in  vision  before. 

And  this  kind  also  is  for  us,  my  brethren.  Here  we 
also  are  to  take  the  cross  and  follow,  as  our  Master  bade 
us.  Many  persons  appear  to  suppose,  that  we  are  re- 
quired to  submit  ourselves  to  wrong  as  a  kind  of  tax,  or 
tariff,  levied  upon  us,  without  any  particular  end. 
They  take  it  as  a  mere  blind  appointment,  and  think  it 
must  be  so  accepted.  Far  from  that  as  possible!  On 
the  contrary  it  is  to  be  evil  or  wrong  encountered  in  a 
work  of  sacrifice^  encountered  by  one  who  is  after  the 
ends  of  love,  even  as  Christ  was.  That  death  of  his 
was  great  in  power,  not  because  he  bore  it,  but  because 
he  was  in  the  work  of  God's  love,  and  bore  it  on  his 
way,  unable  to  be  diverted  from  his  end  by  that  or  any 
other  death.     In  just  that  manner  and  degree,  it  was  in 


412  CHRIST    BEARING    THE 

his  heart  to  bear  sin.  So  if  wrongs  are  done  to  you^ 
and  the  same  love  is  in  you,  the  sin  will  have  a  great 
discovery  tj  make  in  yonr  patience,  of  its  own  cruel t}' 
and  weakness.  If  you  do  but  suffer  well,  nobody  can 
long  triumph  over  you,  or  live  before  you  unforgiven. 
Do  you  then  remember,  that  a  great  part  of  your  Chris- 
tian power  and  privilege  is  here,  in  the  bearing  of  sin 
with  your  Master.  Perhaps  you  talk  down  your  ene- 
mies, perhaps  you  mix  hot  resentments  with  your 
words,  perhaps  you  break  the  silence  of  Christ  first, 
and  then  break  every  thing  else  in  his  example.  Come 
back  then  if  it  be  so,  and  read,  and  settle  into  3^our 
memory,  and  transcribe  on  your  heart,  that  one  sen- 
tence of  the  apostle  concerning  charity — "Beareth  all 
things,  believeth  all  things,  hopeth  all  things,  en- 
dureth  all  things."  There  you  have  the  power  of  Jesus 
himself,  and  it  is  for  you! 

Having  reached  this  point  I  see  no  reason  why  the 
subject  should  be  farther  protracted.  There  is  nothing, 
in  fact,  to  add,  even  for  persuasion's  sake.  The  gospel, 
as  we  have  here  seen  it,  is  complete  in  itself,  asking,  and 
in  fact,  permitting,  no  kelp  from  its  advocate. 


XX. 

THE  PUTTING  ON  CF  CHRIST 


^ySut  put  ye  on  the  Lord  Jesus  ChristJ^ — Rovr.  xiii,  14 
The  highest  distinction  of  man,  taken  as  an  animal 
among  animals,  lies  not  in  his  two-handedness,  or  his  erect 
tigure,  but  in  his  necessity  and  right  of  dress.  The  in- 
ferior animals  have  no  option  concerning  their  outward 
figure  and  appearing.  Their  dress,  or  covering,  is  a 
Dart  of  their  organization,  growing  on  them,  or  out  of 
them,  as  their  bones  are  grown  within.  Be- it  feathers, 
or  fur,  or  hair,  or  wool ;  be  it  in  this  color  or  that,  bril- 
liant as  the  rainbow,  or  shaggy,  or  grizzled,  or  rusty 
and  dull,  they  have  no  liberty  to  change  it,  even  if  they 
could  desire  the  change,  for  one  that  is  glossier  and 
more  to  their  taste.  But  man,  as  a  creature  gifted  with 
a  larger  option,  begins,  at  the  very  outset,  to  show  his 
superior  dignity  in  the  necessary  option  of  dress.  It  is 
given  him  for  his  really  high  prerogative,  to  dress  him- 
self, and  come  into  just  what  form  of  appearing  will 
best  satisfy  the  tastes  into  w^hich  he  has  grown;  or, 
what  is  very  nearly  the  same  thing,  will  best  represent 
the  quality  of  his  feeling  and  character.  With  this  kind 
of  liberty  comes,  of  course,  an  immense  peril ;  for  tliere 
is  a  peril   that  belongs  to  every  kind  of  liberty.     As 

35^ 


4:14:  THE    PUTTING    ON     OF    CHRIST. 

dress  and  equipage  may  create  a  difference  of  appear- 
ing, ihat  very  nearly  amounts  to  a  differencie  of  order 
and  kind,  the  race  of  ambition,  as  soon  as  ambition  is 
born,  will  here  begin.  And  now  the  tremendous  option 
of  dress,  given  as  a  point  of  dignit}^,  becomes,  under 
sin^  a  mighty  instigator  in  the  fearful  race  of  money, 
society,  and  fashion. 

You  alread}^  understand  from  this  course  of  remark, 
that  I  am  going  to  speak  of  dress  as  the  outward  an- 
alogon,  or  figure  of  character,  and  of  character  as  the 
grand  "putting  on  "  of  the  soul.  It  would  be  instructive 
here  to  notice  the  immense  reacting  power  of  dress  on 
character,  showing  how  we  not  only  choose  our  ow^n 
figure  in  it,  but  our  figure  in  turn  chooses  us ;  requir- 
ing us  to  feel  and  act,  or  helping  us  to  feel  and  act,  ac- 
cording TO  the  appearing  we  are  in.  But  I  hasten  to 
speak  of  the  analog}^  referred  to.  Dress  relates  to  the 
form  or  figure  of  the  body,  character  to  the  form  or 
figure  of  the  soul — it  is,  in  fact,  the  dress  of  the  soul. 
The  option  we  have,  in  one,  typifies  the  grander  option 
we  have  in  the  other.  The  right  we  have  in  one,  above 
the  mere  animals,  to  choose  the  color,  type  and  figure 
of  the  outward  man,  foreshadows  the  nobler  right  we 
also  have  to  cast  the  mold,  fashion  or  despoil  the  beauty, 
of  the  inward  man.  There  is  also  an  immense  reaction 
in  character ;  what  we  have  become  already,  in  the  cast 
of  life,  going  far  to  shape  our  doings  and  possible  be- 
comings hereafter. 

On  the  ground  of  this  analogy  it  is  that  the  scriptures 


THE    PUTTING    ON    OF    CHRIST.  415 

SO  frequentl}^  make  use  of  dress,  to  signify  what  lies  iu 
character,  and  represent  character,  in  one  way  or  an- 
other, as  being  the  dress  of  the  soul.  Thus  they  speak 
of  "  the  wedding-garment,"  "  the  garment  of  praise," 
that  "of  cursing,"  that  "of  pride;"  "  the  robe  of  right- 
eousness," and  "of  judgment,"  and  "the  white  robe," 
and  "the  best  robe"  given  to  the  returning  prodigal, 
and  "the  robe  that  has  been  washed,"  and  "judgment 
put  on  as  a  robe;"  of  "white  raiment,"  and  "white 
apparel,"  of  "glorious  apparel,"  of  "nakedness,"  of 
"righteousnesses  that  are  filthy  rags,"  of  "filthiness 
in  the  skirts ;"  and  more  inclusively  and  generally 
still,  of  being  "clothed  with  salvation,"  "  wnth  strength 
and  power,"  "with  humility,"  "with  majesty,"  "with 
shame,"  "  with  fine  linen  clean  and  white,  which  is  the 
righteousness  of  saints ;"  "  I  put  on  righteousness,"  says 
Job,  "and  it  clothed  me."  And,  in  the  same  way,  it  is 
that  Paul,  conceiving  Christ  to  be  the  soul's  new  dress, 
or  what  is  no  wise  different,  its  new  character,  says 
"  Put  ye  on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

All  the  figures  of  dress  or  clothing  are  used  up,  in 
this  manner,  by  the  scriptures,  to  represent  the  forms 
of  disgrace  and  filthiness,  or  of  beauty  and  glory,  into 
which  the  inner  man  of  the  soul  may  be  fashioned — • 
wearing  heaven's  livery  or  that  of  sin.  As  character  ia 
the  soul's  dress,  and  dress  analogical  to  character,  what- 
ever has  power  to  produce  a  character  when  received, 
is  represented  as  a  dress  to  be  put  on. 

Passing  thus  into  the  great  problem  of  life  as  a  moral 


416  THE     PUTTING    ON    OF    CHRIST. 

and  spiritual  affair,  we  are  surprised  to  find  that  inward 
character  and  outward  covering  are  so  closely  related, 
as  tc  be  taken,  by  a  kind  of  natural  instinct,  one  foi 
the  other,  and  the  loss  of  one  for  the  loss  of  the  other. 
What  do  the  first  human  pair  imagine  when  they  fall 
into  sin,  and  make  the  loss  of  character,  but  tliat  they 
have  lost  their  covering?  It  does  not  appear  to  be 
merely  a  stroke  of  art  in  the  description  given,  but  a 
most  natural  turn  of  fact,  that  the  shamed  consciousness 
within  is  taken,  by  their  unpracticed  simplicity,  as  a 
shock  that  has  come  upon  their  modesty. 

No  sooner  is  the  deed  done,  than  the  culprits,  all  cov- 
ered in  before  by  the  sense  of  God's  beauty  on  their 
feeling — for  exactly  that  was  their  original  righteous- 
ness and  not  any  beauty  of  their  own  culture — begin  to 
be  troubled  by  the  discovery  of  their  nakedness ! 
The  real  difficulty  is  that  the  pure  investiture  of  Grod 
upon  their  consciousness  has  been  stripped  away,  thrown 
off  by  their  sin.  Nothing  is  changed  without,  as  they 
foolishly  think — stitchingtheir  scant  leaves,  vain  hope! 
to  hide  a  loss  that  is  within.  And  probably  the  same 
is  true  of  the  immense  dressing  art  and  trade  of  the 
world ;  it  is  put  agoing  and  continued,  as  regards  the 
fearfully  deep  zeal  of  it,  by  just  that  shame  of  the  mind 
which  keeps  it  company  in  evil,  and  makes  it  always 
emulous  of  some  better  figure.  Were  this  inward 
shame  taken  away,  and  the  soul  inwrapped,  as  at  the 
first,  by  the  sense  of  God's  beauty  upon  it,  the  secret 
phrenzy  at  least  would  soon  be  over.  The  maiden 
would  forget  her  torment  in  the  sense  of  a  holier  beauty 


THE    PUTTING    ON    OF    CHRIST.  417 

within,  the  hidden  man  of  the  heart,  the  ornament  of  a 
meek  and  quiet  spirit ;  and  the  man  of  the  world  would 
be  striving  no  more  after  the  outward  shows  and  trap* 
pings  that  are  needed  to  cover  the  lost  honors  of  the 
mind. 

In  the  same  way  it  is,  just  according  to  the  manner 
of  the  fig-leaf  history,  that  such  an  immense  patch- 
ir  g  art,  in  the  matter  of  character,  is  kept  in  practice  in 
all  ages  of  the  world.  It  is  the  general  admission  of 
souls,  that  they  are  not  in  a  true  figure  of  respect  before 
themselves ;  but  instead  of  returning  to  God,  and  the 
complete  investiture  in  which  he  will  cover  them,  they 
imagine,  or  get  up,  small  shows  of  excellence,  which 
they  contrive  to  think  are  as  good,  for  the  matter  of 
character,  as  they  need.  These  small  shows  we  have  a 
name  for,  calling  them  pretexts^  shows  of  covering  that, 
after  all,  do  not  cover — patches,  fig-leaves.  In  one  view 
the  absurd  figures  continually  put  forward  as  pretexts, 
in  this  way,  are  abundantly  ludicrous ;  in  another  they 
carry  a  look  most  sad,  as  well  as  profoundly  serious. 
Politeness — this  is  one  of  the  fig-leaves ;  taken  for  a 
complete  character  by  many,  and  carefully  maintained, 
at>  the  standard  excellence  of  life.  Honor  is  another  and 
scantier,  assuming  still  to  be  even  a  superlative  kind  of 
character;  more  imposing  and  airy  than  it  could  be 
under  the  restrictions  of  virtue.  Bravery,  again,  is  a 
fig-leaf  pretext,  put  on  to  cover  the  loss  of  courage , 
for  evil  in  the  soul  is  of  a  coward  nature,  and  can  only 
keep  itself  up,  without  heart,  by  sallies  and  wild  dashes 


4:18  THE    PUTTING    ON    OF    CHTIIST. 

of  bravery  from  the  will.  These  and  many  others  oi 
the  same  class  are  pretexts  of  character  outside  of  re- 
ligion, but  immensely  significant,  as  revelations  of  the 
shamed  consciousness  of  sin.  Passing  into  the  more 
immediate  field  of  religion,  the  pretexts  there  invented 
and  put  forward,  as  covers  to  the  soul's  nakedness,  are 
scarcely  to  be  numbered  or  named — such  as  sacrifices 
offered  the  world  over  to  idols,  self-tortures  of  the 
body  to  cover  the  sin  of  the  soul,  penances,  austerities 
of  solitude,  vows  of  abstinence  and  poverty,  exactness 
in  rites  and  traditions,  orthodoxy,  alms-givings,  honesty 
in  trade,  the  doing  others  no  harm,  resignations  and 
fatalizing  submissions  to  God,  works  of  reform  and 
philanthropy,  patience  without  feeling,  liberality  with- 
out character.  This  fig-leaf  stitching  is,  in  fact,  the 
great  business  of  the  world;  in  which  we  may  see, 
more  convincingly  than  by  any  thing  else,  the  certainty 
that  men  are  goaded  everywhere  by  the  secret,  inex- 
pugnable feeling  of  nakedness  or  a  want  of  character. 
It  is  a  most  sad  picture  to  look  upon.  Then  how  piercing 
and  fearful  is  the  revelation,  when  the  Holy  Spirit  strips 
away  all  the  illusions  they  practice,  and  they  are  made 
to  see  that  their  righteousnesses  are  rags  and  not  gar- 
ments, and  that  they  are  wretched,  and  miserable,  and 
poor,  and  blind,  and  naked.  0,  this  nakedness  of  the 
eoul  !  how  dismal  a  figure  it  is  even  to  itself!  Jesus 
pities  it,  and  comes  to  it  saying,  in  what  gentleness  of 
promise — "  buy  of  me  gold  tried  in  the  fire,  that  thou 
may  est  be  rich,  and  white  raiment  that  thou  may  est  be 
clothed,  that  the  shame  of  thy  naked  aess  may  not  appear." 


THE    PUTTING    ON    OF   CHRIST.  419 

Nor  let  any  one  imagine  that  these  deep  wants  of 
spiritual  nakedness  we  speak  of  are  to  be  satisfied,  by 
any  uprightness  in  tlie  moral  life.  The  shame  is  reli- 
gious, not  moral — it  belongs  entirely  to  the  religious 
nature,  divested  as  it  is  of  what  was  to  be  everlastingly 
upon  it,  the  conscious  infolding  of  God.  The  law 
moral  is  a  law  of  this  world,  sanctioned  by  this  world's 
custom.  It  was  not  out  of  this  that  the  first  man  fell ; 
for  custom  had  not  yet  arrived.  No,  it  was  the  original 
inspiration,  that  enveloped  and,  as  it  were,  covered  in 
his  life ;  the  holy  vesture  that  he  had  infolding  him 
as  in  comnmnity  of  being  with  God — this  it  was  that 
he  had  put  off,  and  the  loss  of  which  was  the  dread- 
ful shame  of  his  uncovering.  Impossible,  therefore, 
it  is  for  any  one  to  reinvest  himself  with  the  cover- 
ing he  needs.  He  can  not  dew^  himself  in  the  dews 
of  his  lost  morning,  can  not  cover  in  himself  in  the 
righteousness  that  was  God's  infolding  of  character  upon 
him.  What  he  had  by  community  of  being  he  can 
never  reproduce  by  his  personal  will.  He  must  have 
it  again,  as  he  had  it  at  the  first ;  only  by  that  same 
righteousness  of  God  revealed  to  faith,  in  Christ  his 
Son.  Here  again  the  robe  is  offered  back,  and  he  may 
have  good  use  of  his  liberty  in  putting  it  on ;  he  only 
can  not  make  a  thread  of  it  himself;  the  warp  and  woof 
must  be  wholly  divine — the  incovering  beauty  of  God'a 
own  feeling  and  Spirit,  that  enveloped  our  first  father, 
and,  in  Christ,  are  offered  to  us  all. 

We  pass,  then,  here  to  another  point  in  advance,  viz. 


420  THE    PUTTING    ON    OF    CHEIST. 

to  the  fact  that  Christ  our  Loi  i  comes  into  the  world  to 
restore  the  investiture  we  have  lost;  or  rather  to  be 
himself,  for  ns  and  upon  us,  all  that  cur  sin  has  cast 
away.  The  original  word  of  scripture,  represented  in 
our  English  version  by  the  word  atone^  or  make  atone- 
"yierd,  literally  means  to  cover.  In  this  manner,  Jesug 
the  liord  comes  to  cover  our  sin  ;  covering,  first,  our 
liabilities  in  the  sins  that  are  past,  by  the  forbearance  of 
God,  and  the  honor  he  confers  on  God's  instituted  jus- 
tice, by  community  with  us  in  the  penal  scathing  and 
curse  of  our  transgression  ;  and,  secondly  and  princi- 
pally, in  the  sense  that  he  undertook  to  be  the  divine 
character  upon  us — ^yea,  the  divine  glory.  For  he  does 
not  merely  teach  us  something,  as  many  fancy,  which 
we  are  to  take  up  notionally  and  cop}^,  item  by  item, 
in  ourselves,  but  he  undertakes  to  copy  himself  into  us, 
and  be  the  righteousness  of  God  upon  us.  Had  we 
been  taught,  in  the  best  manner  possible,  what  things 
in  character  to  add,  what  things  to  change,  or  qualify, 
or  put  away,  or  put  on,  what  could  we  have  done,  in 
the  weaving  of  so  many  and  such  infinite  subtleties  and 
shadings  of  quality,  but  inevitably  miss  of  all  the  really 
divine  proportions;  producing  only  a  grotesque  and 
half  absurd  caricature  ?  But  when  Jesus  comes  to  us 
bearing  all  these  finest,  holiest  proportions  of  beauty  in 
himself,  we  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  believe  in  him, 
or  receive  him  in  his  person,  and  he  copies  himself  into 
us,  by  the  wondrous  power  of  his  feeling  and  sacrifice 
upon  us.  Then,  as  every  shade  is  from  him,  nothing  is 
overdone,  distorted,  missed,  zr  omitted.     The  glory  of 


THE    PUTTING    ON     OF    CHRIST.  ^21 

the  Father,  all  the  Father's  character,  is  upon  him,  anrl 
he  is  able  to  say — "  the  glory  which  thou  gavest  me  1 
have  given  them." 

Furthermore,  there  is  this  wonderful  art,  so  to  speak, 
in  the  incarnate  human  appearing  of  Jesus,  that  he 
humanizes  God  to  us,  or  brings  out  into  the  human 
nK>lds  of  feeling,  conduct  and  expression,  the  infinite 
perfection,  otherwise  inappropriable  and  very  nearly 
inconceivable.  Since  we  are  finite,  God  must  needs 
take  the  finite  in  all  revelation.  He  can  never  draw  '' 
himself  close  enough  to  get  hold  of  our  feeling,  or  sym- 
pathy, and  be  revealed  to  our  heart,  till  he  takes  the 
finite  of  humanity.  In  the  man-wise  form  only  can  we 
pat  him  on.  Otherwise  his  very  perfections,  elaborated 
by  our  human  thought,  would  be  only  impassive,  dis- 
tant, autocratic,  it  may  be,  and  even  repulsive ;  as  they 
often  are,  even  in  the  teachings  now  of  Christian 
theology.  That  he  has  any  particular  feeling  for  men, 
or  this,  or  that  man,  that  his  great  spirit  can  be  overcast 
and  burdened  with  concern  for  us  under  sin,  that  he  is 
complete  in  all  the  passive  virtues  he  puts  it  upon  us 
to  practice — how  could  we  think  it,  or  be  at  all  sure  of 
it  ?  But  here  he  is,  in  Jesus  Christ,  moving  up  out  of 
a  childhood,  into  a  great  manhood,  filling  all  the  human 
relations  with  offices  and  ministries  in  human  shapes 
of  good;  helping  the  sick  with  kind  words,  and  healing 
them  by  the  touch,  so  to  speak,  of  his  sympathies,  care- 
ful of  the  poor,  patient  with  enemies,  burdened  for 
them  in  feeling  even  to  the  pitch  of  agony,  simple,  and 
ti'ue,  and  faithful  unto  death.     And  so  we  have  God's 


422  THE     PUTTING    ON    OF    CHRIST. 

infinite  perfections  in  our  own  finite  molds,  and  are 
ready  to  have  them  even  upon  ourselves.  God  is  now 
no  more  some  blank  idol  of  reason,  some  fate,  or  in- 
finite abyss,  or  some  frigid,  thin  immensit}^  of  panthe- 
istic unconsciousness ;  his  vast  superhuman  proportions 
no  longer  baffle  us,  or  spread  themselves  in  phantoms 
of  glory,  which  we  can  as  little  think  as  partake.  But 
they  are  given  us  in  the  traits  of  Jesus,  who  being 
Son  of  God,  has  come  to  be  the  Son  of  Man  among  ns, 
living  out,  in  his  human  way,  and  so  helping  us  to  con- 
ceive, that  excellence  of  God,  in  which  we  require  to 
be  invested.  The  ineffable  character  is  made  human^ 
set  forth  in  the  human  proportions,  and  we  have  it  as  a 
glorious,  full  suit,  prepared  in  the  exactest  fit  of  our 
humanity,  yet  still  divine.  The  virtues,  graces,  glories, 
sympathies  infinite,  are  so  brought  forth  and  embodied 
in  the  incarnate  whole  of  his  life,  that  we  can  have  them 
all  upon  us  at  once,  when  we  could  not  even  sketch  the 
pattern,  by  simply  embracing,  in  trust,  his  human  per- 
son. 

In  this  manner,  for  this,  in  brief,  is  the  gospel,  we  are 
to  be  new  charactered,  by  the  putting  on  of  Christ; 
not  by  some  imitation  or  copying  of  Christ  that  we 
practice,  item  by  item,  in  a  way  of  self-culture — the 
Christian  idea  is  not  that — but  that  Christ  is  to  be  a 
complete  wardrobe  for  us  himself,  and  that  by  simply 
receiving  his  person,  we  are  to  have  the  holy  texture 
of  his  life  upon  us,  and  live  in  the  infolding  of  his 
character.  And  this  is  the  meaning  of  that  "righteous- 
ness of  faith "   which  is  variously  spoken   of   in   the 


THE    PUTTING    ON    OF    CHRIST.  423 

scriptures.  It  is  that  Christ  is  everything  for  us  and 
upon  us,  and  that  we  are  to  see  our  whole  supply- 
righteousness,  beauty,  peace,  liberty  in  good,  graces, 
and  stores  of  character,  putatively  ours  in  him ;  reck- 
oned to  be  ours  by  faith,  always  derivable  by  faith  from 
him ;  for  this  exactly  is  the  difference  between  a  Chris- 
tian and  a  merely  humanly  virtuous  person,  that  one 
draws  on  Christ  for  everything,  and  the  other  on  him- 
self— on  his  will,  his  works,  his  self-criticism,  shaping 
all  liis  amendments  himself.  Or,  reversing  the  order 
of  comparison,  one  manufactures  a  suit  for  himself,  in 
patches  of  character  gotten  together  and  laid  upon  the 
ground  of  his  sin,  and  the  other  takes  a  whole  robe  of 
life,  graciously  fitted  and  freely  tendered,  in  the  hu- 
manly divine  excellence  of  Christ  his  Saviour — who  is 
thus  made  unto  him  wisdom,  righteousness,  sanctifica- 
tion  and  redemption. 

But  we  are  to  put  him  on — ''put  ye  on  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ."  And  here  is  the  difficulty — you  can  not 
see,  it  may  be,  how  it  is  done.  The  very  conception  is 
unintelligible,  or  mystical,  and  you  can  not  guess,  it  may 
be,  what  it  means.  What  then  does  it  mean  to  put  on 
Christ? 

It  does  not  mean,  of  course,  that  you  are  on]y  to 
make  an  experiment  of  putting  on  the  garb  of  a  new 
life,  and  see  how  you  will  like  it.  No  man  puts  on 
Christ  for  any  thing  short  of  eternity.  The  act  must  be 
a  finality,  even  at  the  beginning.  He  must  be  accepted 
as  the  Alpha  and  Omega.     Whoever  conteniDlates  even 


424  THE    PUTTING    ON    OF    CHRIST. 

the  possibility  of  being  without  him,  or  of  ever  being 
without  him  again,  does  not  put  him  on. 

Keith er  do  you  put  bim  on,  when  you  undertake  tc 
copy  some  one  or  more  of  the  virtues,  or  characters,  in 
him — the  gentleness,  for  example,  the  love,  the  dignity 
— without  being  willing  to  accept  the  sacrifice  in  him., 
to  bear  the  world's  contempt  with  him,  to  be  singular, 
to  be  hated,  to  go  through  your  Gethsemane,  and  groan 
with  him  under  the  burdens  of  love.  There  can  be  no 
choosing  out  here  of  shreds  and  patches  from  his  divine 
beauty ;  you  must  take  the  whole  suit,  else  you  can  not 
put  him  on.  The  garment  is  seamless,  and  can  not  be 
divided. 

Neither  do  you  put  him  on,  when  you  undertake 
only  to  realize  some  previous  conceptions  of  character 
that  are  your  own.  The  dress  is  to  be  not  from  you,  but 
from  him — the  whole  Christ,  just  as  he  is,  taken  upon 
you  to  shape  you  in  the  molds  of  his  own  divine  life 
and  spirit. 

But  we  must  be  more  positive.  First,  then,  there 
must  be  a  full  and  hearty  renunciation  of  your  past  life. 
As  the  apostle  words  it  in  another  place,  you  must  put 
off  the  old  man  in  order  to  put  on  the  new.  You  can 
not  have  the  new  character  to  put  on  over  the  old. 
The  filthy  garments,  all  the  rags,  must  be  thrown  off, 
thrown  completely  away.  Christ  will  be  no  mere  cloak 
over  the  old  affections  and  lusts. 

How,  then,  for  the  next  thing,  do  we  put  him  on  ?- 
By  faith,  I  answer,  only  by  faith.  For  in  that  the  soul 
comes  to  him,  shivering  in  the  cold  shame  of  its  sin, 


THE    PUTTING    ON    OF    CHRIST.  425 

and  gives  itself  over  to  him,  to  be  love1,  protected,  cov- 
ered in,  bj  liis  gracious  life  and  passion.  It  sees  sucb 
beauty  upon  him  tha^^  it  dares  trust  him,  and  says— 
"  be  thou  my  all,  the  washing  away  of  my  sin,  the  cov- 
ering of  my  vileness,  my  character  and  life.  0  Lord, 
my  hope  is  in  thee !"  And  this  is  faith ;  it  is  coming 
to  Jesus  in  all  his  manlike  sympathies,  characters, 
molds  of  life,  and  receiving  him,  by  a  total  act  of  trust, 
to  be  upon  you,  as  the  Lord  your  righteousness.  Your 
iniquities  are  thus  to  be  forgiven,  your  sin  to  be  cov- 
ered. Righteousness  from  him,  and  not  from  your 
own  will  and  works,  is  to  be  upon  you  thus,  by  the  in- 
folding of  a  divine  power ;  even  the  righteousness  that 
is  of  God  by  faith,  unto  all  and  upon  all  them  that  be- 
lieve. 

Take  another  conception,  which  may  be  more  intelli- 
gible to  some,  viz.,  that  you  will  put  on  Christ  by  obe- 
dience to  him ;  for  whoever  obeys  Christ  willingly 
trusts  him,  and  whoever  trusts  him  obeys  him.  Hence 
the  promise — "If  a  man  love  me,  he  will  keep  my 
words,  and  my  father  will  love  him,  and  we  will  come 
unto  him  and  make  our  abode  with  him."  And  then  it 
follows  that  whoever  has  the  abode  with  him,  consci- 
ously, of  the  Father  and  the  Son,  will  be  all  folded  in 
by  the  thought  of  it,  and  will  live  as  being  in  the  sacred 
investiture  of  the  divine  character  and  power.  If,  then, 
you  can  not  understand  faith,  you  can  understand  obe- 
"lience,  and  if  you  go  into  that,  as  the  final,  total  giving 
over  of  your  life,  I  will  answer  for  it,  that  there  will 
be  a  fiiith  in  your  obedience,  and  that  Christ  will  be 

3G* 


426  THE    PUTTING    ON    OF    CHRIST. 

with  you,  raanifested  in  jou,  truly  put  on,  as  the  con 
sciouslj  divine  attire  of  your  life. 

I  have  only  to  add  on  this  point,  that  you  are  to  be 
always  putting  on  Christ  afterwards,  as  you  begin  to 
put  hini  on  at  the  first.  All  the  success  of  your  Chi  is- 
tian  life  will  consist  in  the  closeness  of  j^our  walk  with 
Christ,  and  the  completeness  of  your  trust  in  him. 
You  are  not  so  much  to  fashion  yourself  by  him,  as  to 
let  him  fashion  you  by  himself — to, be  upon  you,  as  he 
is  with  you,  and  cover  you  with  all  the  graces  of  his 
inimitable  love  and  beaut}' ;  and  this  you  w411  do  most 
perfect!}^,  when  you  trust  him  most  implicitly,  and  keep 
his  words  most  faithfully. 

It  only  remains,  now,  to  bring  our  subject  to  its  fit 
conclusion,  by  speaking  of  the  consequences  of  this 
cutting  on  of  Christ.  And  I  name,  first  of  all,  that 
which  the  apostle  suggests,  in  a  kind  of  cadence  that 
inmediately  follows  and  finishes  out  the  text.  "But 
put  ye  on,"  he  says,  "the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  make 
not  provision  for  the  flesh,  to  fulfill  the  lusts  thereof." 
Where  he  conceives,  it  will  be  seen,  that  one  substi- 
tutes, or  takes  place  of,  the  other — that  when  Christ  is 
really  put  on,  the  world  falls  ofi^,  and  the  lusts  of  prop- 
erty, and  fame,  and  power,  and  appetite,  subside  or  fall 
awa}^  The  effect  runs  both  ways,  under  the  great  law 
of  action  and  reaction — as  the  old  man  is  put  off  that 
the  new  may  be  put  on,  so  the  new  put  on  still  further 
disjDlaces  the  old.  This,  too,  we  know  by  the  attestations 
of  experience.     He  that  has  the  sense  of  Christ  upon 


THE    PUTTING     ON    OF    CHRIST.  427 

him,  has  himself  ennobled.  He  is  raised  in  the  pitch 
of  his  feeling  every  way ;  having  such  a  consciousness 
awakened  of  his  inward  relation  to  God,  that  money, 
and  pleasure,  and  all  the  petty  lustings  of  the  lower 
life  are  sunk  out  of  sight  and  forgot.  Sometimes  you 
will  see  that  an  appetite  which  has  become  a  madness, 
like  the  appetite  for  drink,  and  has  shaken  down  all  the 
man's  resolutions,  and  floored  him  at  every  point  of 
itruggle,  utterly  dies  and  is  felt  no  more,  from  the 
moment  when  he  has  put  on  Christ.  He  wants  no  more 
a  sensation,  when  the  sentiment  of  his  soul  is  full.  It 
is  as  if  he  were  in  Christ's  own  appetites,  instead  of 
those  which  have  so  long  domineered  over  his  diseased 
nature.  And  so  it  will  be  universally.  If  there  be 
any  over-mastering  temptation  which  baffles  you,  and 
keeps  turning  you  ofP  in  your  endeavors,  and  boasting 
itself  against  you,  here  is  your  deliverance — raise  no 
fight  with  it  in  your  own  will,  as  you  always  have  done 
when  you  have  failed,  but  simply  turn  yourself  to 
Christ  alone :  put  on  Christ,  let  your  soul  be  so  cov- 
ered in  by  the  power  of  his  grace  upon  you,  that  you 
feel  yourself  raised  and  caparisoned  for  glory  in  him, 
and  all  the  little  and  low  lustings  of  this  world  will  be 
silent — felt  no  more. 

There  is  also  this  most  admirable  effect  in  the  putting 
on  of  Christ,  that  being  thus  enveloped  in  his  life  and 
feeling,  a  power  will  move  inward  from  him,  that  will 
search  out  all  most  subtle,  inbred  evils  in  you,  even 
those  which  are  hidden  from  your  consciousness,  and 
?v^ill  finally  assimilate  you  in  them,  and  in  all  beside,  tc 


4:28  THE    PUTTING    ON    OF    CHRIST. 

what  he  himself  was.  This,  in  fact,  is  the  wonderful 
power  of  dress,  that,  while  no  person  who  has  spent  hia 
life  in  the  rags  of  poverty,  and  the  coarseness  of  low- 
bred manners,  can  possibly  fashion  himself  to  ways  of 
elegance,  by  superintending  his  every  particular  look, 
motion,  gesture,  and  tone,  the  simple  insphering  of  hia 
life  in  new  associations  and  new  proprieties  of  dress, 
may  and  often  does  suffice,  in  a  very  few  years,  to  re- 
compose  and  assimilate  his  whole  manner  as  a  man. 
And  so  it  is  that  Christ  will  be  able,  when  put  on,  to 
fashion  us  into  a  character  of  innumerable  graces,  all 
consolidated,  in  a  harmonious  whole  of  beauty  like  his 
own. 

Here,  too,  is  the  true  idea  of  Christian  sanctification. 
It  is  that  we  may  so  put  on  Christ,  and  be  so  infolded 
in  him,  as  to  be  consciously  raised  above  all  bad  impulse 
into  good,  above  all  guiltiness  into  a  conscience  void 
of  offense,  above  all  detentions  of  bondage  into  perfect 
liberty,  above  all  fear  into  perfect  assurance,  and  so 
continue  as  long  as  we  falter  not  in  the  faith,  by  which 
Christ  is  thus  brought  in  upon  the  soul,  to  be  its  im- 
pulse and  the  appetizing  force  of  its  life.  But  whether 
this  can  be  fitly  called  a  perfect  sanctification  is  more 
doubtful.  That  it  leaves  the  soul  in  a  temptable  state 
all  must  and  do  in  fact  agree,  and  if  the  faith,  at  any 
time,  gives  way,  the  subject  will  immediately  lapse  into 
some  kind  of  sin.  Nay,  if  he  were  sanctified  far  down, 
in  all  the  deepest,  most  underground  cells  of  feeling  he 
was  ever  conscious  of,  there  would  yet  be  treasons  liid 
Btill  deeper  in  the  soul,  and  he  would  fall  at  onoo,  the 


THE    PUTTING    ON    OF    CHRIST.  429 

moment  lie  let  go  liis  faith.  The  truth  appears  to  be 
that,  in  sucli  a  state  of  perfect  liberty  and  good  impulse 
as  we  have  described,  the  character  still  is  not  wholly 
inherent,  but  only  in  part; — a  kind  of  supervening,  or 
Buperinduced  character ;  a  garment  of  grace  put  on,  the 
grace  of  which  has  not  yet  struck  through  into  the 
inmost  nature  of  him  who  is  covered  by  it.  Christ  is 
perfect  on  him,  and  he  is  in  Christ,  but  he  is  not  per- 
fected in  himself  The  transformation  of  the  man  has 
not  yet  come  up  to  the  t3^pe  of  his  Christly  investiture. 
He  is  like  a  soldier  in  the  fiery  panoply  and  dress  of 
war.  When  he  has  it  on  him,  and  hears  the  trumpet 
mounding  bravely,  he  is  bold  enough  to  face  all  danger 
in  the  fight;  but  there  still  are  vestiges  of  a  naturally 
coward  feeling,  it  may  be,  in  the  center  and  core  of  his 
personality,  such  that  if  you  strip  him  of  the  warlike 
trappings,  and  send  him  out  to  fight  a  silent  engage- 
ment in  that  common  figure,  he  will  not  unlikely  turn 
and  flee  for  his  life.  It  is  one  thing  in  this  way  to  have 
on  a  pure  garment,  clean  and  white,  and  so  to  act 
purel}^,  and  quite  another  to  be  clean  and  white  all 
through,  in  the  inmost  substance,  and  deepest  impulse, 
and  subtlest  windings,  of  the  soul's  own  habit.  This 
requires  time,  and  it  may  be  a  long  time.  Even  if  he 
were  to  be  in  Christ  so  perfectly  as  not  to  commit  one 
conscious  sin  for  many  years,  which  is  possible,  tliere 
would  still  be  in  him,  after  all  this  long  investiture  by 
Christ,  old  vestiges  of  disease,  and  disorder,  and  bad 
passion,  not  yet  sanctified  away. 

But  it  is  much,  how  very  much,  that  all  these  cac 


iSO  THE    PUTTING    ON    OF    CHKIST. 

be  thus  kept  under,  so  as  never  again  to  break  out  and 
reign,  as  long  as  Christ  is  faithfully  put  on  by  a  believ- 
ing, consecrated  life.  Potentially  speaking,  all  sancti- 
fication  is  here ;  for  the  superinduced  character  may  be 
kept  up  bright,  and  clean,  full,  and  free  to  the  last; 
when,  of  course,  it  will  complete  itself  in  the  all- 
renovated,  absolutely  perfect,  through  and  through 
charactei*  of  the  glorified. 

Observe  again  the  consciousness  of  strength,  and  the 
exalted  confidence  of  feeling,  that  must  gird  any  soul 
that  has  truly  put  on  Christ.  It  will  be  with  him,  in 
his  faith,  as  it  was  with  the  prodigal,  when  the  Father 
said,  "bring  forth  the  best  robe  and  put  it  on  him, 
and  put  a  ring  on  his  finger  and  shoes  on  his  feet." 
From  that  moment  he  felt  strong  in  the  family.  The 
shame  fell  off  as  the  robe  went  on,  and  the  confidence 
of  a  son  came  back  upon  him.  So  it  is  that  every 
Cliristian  is  strong  who  has  really  put  on  Christ.  He 
is  clothed  with  strength  and  honor,  as  with  salvation. 
He  lives  in  the  garment  of  praise.  All  misgivings 
flee,  all  mutinous  passions  fall  under.  Do  you  some- 
times try,  my  brethren,  to  be  strong  by  your  will, 
strong  by  your  works,  strong  by  what  you  can  raise  of 
excitement,  or  high  resolve,  that  is  only  weakness,  and 
a  great  part  of  all  weakness  comes  in  that  way.  Noth- 
ing is  more  natural  for  a  Christian  losing  ground,  than 
to  put  forth  all  the  force  he  has,  in  a  strain  of  hard 
endeavor,  lashing  up  and  thrusting  on  himself;  but  in 
that,  he  is  believing,  probably,  just  as  much  less  as  ho 
is  goading  himself  more.     Let  h'm  go  back  to  faith, 


THE    PUTTING    ON    OF    CHRIST.  431 

see  tliat  he  lets  go  mere  self-endeavor,  to  put  on  Christ, 
and  he  will  have  all  strength  and  victory. 

Here,  too,  be  it  understood,  is  the  source  of  that 
strange  powgr  of  impression,  which  is  felt  in  the  life  and 
society  of  all  earnest  Christians.  Everybody  feels  that 
tliere  is  a  something  about  them  not  human.  And  the 
reason  is  that  they  have  put  on  Christ.  The  serious, 
loving,  gentle,  sacrificing  and  firm  spirit  of  Jesus,  is 
revealed  within,  or  upon  them,  and  they  signify  to 
men's  feeling  just  what  he  signified.  They  fulfill  that 
gracious  name  that  was  formerly  in  so  great  favor  in 
the  Church — they  are  all  Christophers,  Christ-bearers. 
They  will  even  put  so  much  meaning  into  their  "  good 
morning,"  or  their  bow  of  courtesy,  as  to  carry  a 
Christly  impression  in  the  heart  of  a  stranger.  This, 
my  brethren,  is  the  true  power.  Would  that  the  multi- 
tude in  our  day,  who  can  think  to  be  powerful  only  as 
they  strive  and  cry,  and  go  dinning  through  the  world 
in  a  perpetual  ado  of  hard  endeavor,  could  just  learn 
how  much  it  means,  to  put  on  Christ. 

It  only  remains  to  add,  what  has  been  coming  into 
view  in  the  whole  progress  of  our  subject,  that  the  only 
true  salvation-title  is  Christ  put  on,  and  found  upon 
the  soul  as  its  heavenly  investiture.  A  great  many 
persons  are  at  work,  in  these  times,  to  fashion  a  charac- 
ter for  themselves,  and  demanding  it  of  them  who 
preach  the  gospel,  that  they  preach  conduct,  tell  men 
how  to  be  good  and  right,  correct  theii  faults,  make 
them  good  husbands,  wives,  children,  citizens — cease, 
in  a  word,  from  the  mystic  matter  of  faith  and  divine 


482  THE    PUTTING    ON    OF    CHRIST. 

experience,  and  put  the  world  on  doing  sometliing  more 
solid  and  satisfactory.  This  kind  of  cant  has  gone  so 
far,  too,  that  many  professed  preachers  of  the  gospel 
itself  are  in  it.  The  Master  owns  them  i^ot,  so  far,  at 
least.  He  wants,  not  simply  a  better  conduct,  but  a 
solid,  new  man — so,  new  husbands,  wives,  children,  citi- 
zens ;  new  kindness,  truthfulness,  honor,  honesty,  beauty. 
This  new  man  to  be  put  on,  as  having  put  off  the  old, 
is  a  very  different  matter  from  the  old  man  in  a  better 
style  of  behavior.  It  is  that  which  after  God,  is  created 
in  righteousness  and  true  holiness — a  man  after  God, 
even  as  Christ  was,  when  he  came  in  God's  love  to  take 
us  on  his  soul,  that  we  may  take  him  on  our  soul,  and  be 
covered  in  by  the  new  investiture  of  his  life ;  that  sigh- 
ing we  may  sigh  with  him,  dying  die  with  him,  rising 
rise  with  him,  carrying  up  all  our  once  low  affections  to 
sit  with  him  where  he  sitteth,  at  the  right  hand  of  God. 
All  which  he  figures  in  the  parable  of  the  great  king's 
wedding-feast ;  where  the  guests  are  called  by  sending 
round  to  each,  for  his  card  of  invitation,  a  caftan^  or 
splendid  wedding-robe.  Putting  on  this  robe  the  guests 
are  to  come  in,  and,  by  this  found  upon  them,  are  to  be 
admitted  and  have  their  places  assigned.  But  it  hap- 
pens, at  the  great  eternal  feast,  as  the  Saviour  represents, 
that  the  King  comes  in  and  finds  one  there  that  has  no 
robe  on  him  but  his  own.  It  may  be  a  very  fine,  won- 
derfully elaborate  robe ;  he  may  even  have  thought  to 
shine  there  in  it  more  than  if  it  were  the  king's  pro- 
viding. But  the  king  says — "  Friend,  how  camest  thou 
in  hither  not  having  on  the  wedding-garment  "^     And 


THE    PUTTING    ON     OF    CHRIST.  433 

he  was  speechless.  The  king  said— bind  him  hand  and 
fo  )t,  and  take  him  away."  Inasmuch  as  holy  character 
in  created  beings  is  and  must  eternally  be  derivative, 
Ihiite  from  infinite,  who  shall  be  able  to  stand  by  self- 
originative  goodness,  who  that  will  not  put  on  Christ ! 
Putimg  on  his  robe  of  self-criticism,  self-endeavor,  self- 
lighteousness,  will  not  answer.  All  such  fine  attire  is 
only  rags  at  the  best.  The  true  wedding-garment  is 
Jesus  himself,  and  there  is  no  other. 

Here  then,  brethren  and  friends,  I  speak  now  to  you 
all  without  distinction,  here  is  the  fearfully  precise  point 
on  which  our  eternity  hinges — the  putting  on  of  Christ. 
Observe,  we  are  to  put  on  no  great  name  or  standard, 
no  sectarian  badge  or  livery,  no  lawn,  or  saintly  drab, 
or  veil,  or  stole,  or  girdle — none  of  these  are  the  real 
new  man  to  be  put  on.  No !  Christ !  we  must  put  on 
Christ  himself,  and  none  hut  him.  We  must  be  in- 
Christed,  found  in  him,  covered  in  the  seamless,  in- 
divisible robe  of  his  blessed  life  and  passion.  Far  be 
it  also  from  us,  when  we  put  on  Christ,  to  think  of 
turning  ourselves  about,  in  the  search  after  some 
other,  finer  pretext  that  we  may  put  on  over  him,  to 
make  him  attractive,  pleasing,  acceptable.  No,  we  are 
to  put  him  on  just  as  he  is,  wear  him  outside,  walk 
in  him,  bear  his  reproach,  glory  in  his  beauty,  call  it 
a'.>od  to  die  with  him,  so  to  be  found  in  him  not  having 
our  own  righteousness,  but  the  righteousness  that  is  of 
Ood  by  faith.  Cover  us  in  it,  0  thou  Christ  of  God, 
and  let  our  shame  be  hid  eternally  in  thee. 

37 


XXI. 

HEAVE}(  OPENED. 

'^And  he  saith  unto  lihn —  Yerily^  verily^  I  say  unto 
you,  Hereafter  ye  shall  see  heaven  open,  and  the  angels 
of  Qod  ascending  and  descending  ujpon  the  Son  of 
ManP — John  i,  51. 

With  a  singular  felicity  and  power  of  statement,  Mr. 
Coleridge  gives  it  for  his  doctrine  of  scripture  inspira- 
tion— "In  the  Bible  there  is  more  that  finds  me,  than  I 
have  experienced  in  all  other  books  put  together ;  the 
words  of  the  Bible  find  me  at  greater  depths  of  my 
being ;  and  whatever  finds  me  brings  with  it  an  irresist- 
ible evidence  of  its  having  proceeded  from  the  Holy 
Spirit."  God  only  can  be  so  far  privy,  that  is,  to  the 
soul,  as  to  make  it  answer  thus,  all  through,  in  its  deep- 
est and  most  hidden  parts,  to  his  words.  Whatever 
may  be  thought  of  his  doctrine,  as  a  complete  and  suffi- 
cient solution  of  the  question,  it  is  certainly  good,  and 
even  powerfully  good,  as  far  as  it  goes.  And  it  has  a 
beautiful  coincidence,  which  he  probably  had  never  ob- 
served, with  the  very  simple  and  trul}'  natural  sentiment 
of  Christ's  interview  with  Nathanael. 

Fig-trees  make  a  very  dense  covering  of  leaves  and 
sometimes  drop  their  boughs  very  low.  JSTathanael  had 
lately  retired  into  the  cabin  of  thick  foliage  thus  pro- 


HEAVEN    OPENED.  435 

vided  by  some  tree  of  his  garden,  and  closeted  there 
with  God,  was  opening  his  heart,  in  regard  to  some  ] 'ar- 
ticular difficulty,  or  enemy,  or  question  of  duty,  oi 
promise  of  a  Messiah  to  come,  in  a  manner  only  the 
more  guileless,  that  he  felt  himself  to  be  so  entirely  re- 
moved from  human  observation.  Shortly  after,  proba- 
bly on  that  same  day,  being  notified  by  Philip,  he 
comes  to  see  Jesus,  who  is  even  thought  to  be  the  great 
Messiah  himself  Jesus  saw  Nathanael  comino^  to  him 
and  saith  of  him — "  Behold  an  Israelite  indeed  in  whom 
is  no  guile!"  Nathanael  saith  unto  him — "Whence 
knowest  thou  me?"  Jesus  answered  and  vsaid  unto  him 
— "  Before  Philip  called  thee,  when  thou  wast  under 
the  fig-tree,  I  saw  thee."  Nathanael  saith  unto  him — 
^*  Rabbi,  thou  art  the  Son  of  God,  thou  art  the  king  of 
Israel."  Jesus  answered  and  said  unto  him — "  Because 
I  saw  thee  under  the  fig-tree, believest  thou?  thou  shalt 
see  greater  things  than  these."  And  he  saith  unto  him 
— "Verily,  verily  I  say  unto  you,  Hereafter  ye  shall  see 
heaven  open,  and  the  angels  of  God  ascending  and  de- 
scending upon  the  Son  of  Man." 

The  two  main  points  of  the  dialogue  are,  first,  that 
Nathanael  was  no  impressed  by  the  Jinding  of  Christ,  or 
the  privity  of  Christ's  knowledge  of  him,  under  the  fig- 
tree,  that  he  at  once  declared  his  belief  in  him  as  the 
Messiah;  and  secondly,  that  Christ  immediately  pro^ 
claims  a  deeper  finding,  and  a  more  convincing  privity 
of  knowledge,  that  shall,  in  due  time,  be  shown  or 
proved,  by  the  opening,  within  his  own  bosom,  of  a  su- 
pernatural  sense   and  the  discovery  to   him    thus   of 


436  HEAVEN    OPENED. 

supernatural  beings,  the  passing  and  repassing,  the  flow 
and  reflow  of  their  blessed  society.  According  to  the 
description  given,  it  will  be  as  if  that  isthmus  barriei 
between  the  two  great  oceans  of  the  world  were  cloven 
down,  for  the  oscillating  tides  to  begin  their  coming  and 
returning  flow;  when  also  the  ships  of  the  nations, 
wafted  convergentlj  thither,  shall  be  sailing  freely 
through,  burdened  with  the  fruits  and  golden  riches  of 
all  cliines  and  shores. 

Now  this  opening  of  heaven,  w^hich  is  to  be  our  sub- 
ject, is  presented  by  the  Saviour  in  terms  that  may  seem 
to  be  a  little  enigmatical.  We  shall  conceive  his  mean- 
ing perhaps  more  sufficient^,  if  we  note  three  principal 
views  of  the  heavenly  state  that  occur  in  the  scripture. 
First,  there  is  the  local  objective  view,  that  conceives  it 
as  a  place  somewhere  in  the  upper  worlds  of  heaven  or 
the  sky.  Secondly,  there  is  the  terrestrial  objective 
view,  where  the  ISTew  Jerusalem  descending  from  God 
out  of  heaven  and  refitting  our  world  itself  to  be  the 
abode  of  God  with  men,  makes  it  a  province,  in  that 
manner,  of  the  other.  Thirdl}^,  the  subjective  view, 
which  has  nothing  to  do  with  place  or  locality,  but  con- 
ceives the  heavenl}^  state  simply  as  a  state  of  spiritual 
beholding  and  social  commerce  opened  in  the  soul  itself. 
There  is  no  necessary  con.tradiction  or  disagreement  be- 
tween the  three  conceptions  stated ;  they  are  all  true, 
though  probably  in  different  senses,  and  may  be  taken 
as  complementary,  in  fact,  to  each  other.  The  first  ia 
more  impressive  and  popular  and  more  commonly  used; 
the  second,  as  being  more  geographical,  is  more  closely 


HEAVEN    OPENED.  437 

connected  witli  our  mundane  prospects  iind  affairs ;  tlie 
third  is  more  entirely  moral  and  rational,  being  simply 
the  condition  of  character.  All  are  to  be  used  with  en- 
tire freedom,  and  without  any  attempt  to  maintain  one 
ngainst  the  others ;  the  presumption  being  that  a  stato 
so  transcendent  will  be  only  feebly  conceived,  when 
they  are  all  brought  in,  to  intensify  and  qualify,  or 
complement,  each  other. 

In  the  conversation  with  Nathanael,  the  Saviour  ap- 
pears to  be  speaking  in  the  subjective  way,  as  of  a 
heaven  to  be  opened  in  the  soul  itself  In  his  terms  of 
description,  he  refers,  apparently,  to  Jacob's  dream, 
where  that  patriarch  beholds,  not  without,  but  in  the 
chamber  of  his  own  brain,  in  a  dream  of  the  night  when 
the  senses  are  fast  locked  in  sleep,  a  ladder  set  up  and 
the  angels  of  God  coursing  up  and  down  upon  it; 
only  what  transpired  subjectively  in  his  brain  he  nat- 
urally associated  with  the  place,  conceiving  also  that 
the  sky  above  was  somehow  specially  set  open  there, 
saying — "how  dreadful  is  this  place,"  and  calling  it 
"the  gate  of  heaven."  So  the  Saviour  says,  "ascend- 
ing and  descending,"  putting  the  ascending  first;  as  if 
tlie  metropolis  or  point  or  departure,  in  the  commerce 
begun,  were  to  be  from  within  the  soul  itself  There 
lives  the  Son  of  Man,  reigning  in  his  heavenly  kingdom 
at  the  soul's  own  center,  and  from  him  go  up  couriers 
and  ministers  of  glory,  descending  also  back  upon  him 
th(^re.  The  precise  point  made,  in  this  manner,  with 
Nathanael  is,  that  as  he  was  discovered  under  the  fig- 
tree,  so  he  shall  be  discovered,  as  regards  the  immense 

37^ 


4:88  HEAVEN    OPENED. 

apper  world  of  the  soul,  existing  iiii suspected  in  him 
hitherto,  but  now  set  open.  These  two  propositions 
cover  the  ground  o£the  subject  stated,  and  these  I  shall 
endeavor  to  substantiate. 

I.  That  there  is  a  supernatural  sense,  now  slumbering 
or  closed  up  in  souls,  by  wbicb  they  might  perceive,  or 
cognize,  supernatural  beings  and  things,  even  as  they 
cognize  material  beings  and  things  by  the  natural  sense. 
And 

II.  That  Christ  undertakes  to  open  this  supernatural 
sense,  and  make  it  the  organ  or  inlet  of  universal  society. 

I.  There  is  a  supernatural  sense  now  closed  up,  or  ex- 
isting under  a  state  of  suppression. 

We  encounter  a  difficulty  here,  in  attempting  to  prove 
tbe  existence  of  faculties  and  powers  that  are  shut  in,  or 
suppressed  in  their  action.  And  yet  even  our  natural 
faculties  are  very  nearly  in  -that  condition  at  the  first — 
no  man  knowing,  or  conceiving,  what  is  in  him,  till  it 
is  brought  forth.  We  also  know  that  all  finest  qualities 
and  highest  powers  are  stifled,  for  the  time,  or  even 
permanently,  by  wrongs  and  vices.  What  we  here 
suppose  to  be  true  is,  that  in  the  original  and  properly 
normal  state,  souls  were  open  to  God,  and  a  full,  free 
(commerce  with  his  upright  society.  Being  made  in 
God's  image,  they  were  to  be  children  with  God  their 
Father,  living  in  society  with  him,  having  him  to  know, 
enjoy,  and  love,  and  having  all  their  desires  freely  met 
and  satisfied  by  the  open  ministry  of  his  friendship. 
He  was,  and,  with  all  his  glorious  company  was  eternally 


HEAVEN    OPENED.  439 

to  be,  revealed  in  them,  as  in  a  heaven  of  present  bliss, 
and  immediately  conscious  communion  of  life. 

But  this  original  and  properly  normal  state  was 
necessarily  broken  up  and  brought  to  a  full  end,  by 
their  fall  into  sin.  They  now  become  afraid  of  him  and 
hide  themselves  instinctively  from  him.  Ko  longer  can 
he  be  revealed  to  their  immediate  knowledge,  because 
the  personal  affinities  through  which  he  was  to  be  re- 
vealed are  closed  up  in  them.  They  fall  off  thus  into 
their  senses,  and  become  occupied  with  the  objects  of 
the  senses ;  having  the  understanding  darkened,  being 
alienated  from  the  life  of  God,  through  the  ignorance 
that  is  in  them.  So  they  live  as  under  heavy  storm- 
clouds  in  the  night;  the  lightning  flashes  in  sharp 
gleams  across  the  clouds,  or  glares  in  red  anger- fits 
from  within  their  body,  but  there  is  no  opening  through, 
to  let  in  the  light  of  the  stars.  Heaven  is  gone  out  to 
them  in  the  same  manner ;  Grod  is  hid,  and  they  know 
not  where  they  can  find  him;  spirit  and  spiritual 
being  and  spiritual  society  with  his  great  family  is  so 
far  a  lost  possibility,  that,  if  they  think  it,  they  can  not 
give  it  reality.  There  is  something  too  in  guilt,  or  the 
state  of  guiltiness,  that  amounts  to  a  virtual  shutting  up, 
or  suppression,  of  all  affinities  with  supernatural  being. 
It  freezes  in  perception.  It  condenses  all  the  Godward 
and  pure  aspirations  and  gathers  them  in,  by  the  dread- 
ful recoil  it  makes  on  the  soul's  own  center.  It  pro- 
nounces a  damnation  too  upon  itself,  and  by  its  own  re- 
morseful severities  makes  the  sentence  good.  Falling 
away  thus  from  God,  and  closing  itself  up  as  regards  aU 


4,4:0  HEAVEN    OP  i:  NED. 

supernatural  relations  and  perceptions,  it  becomes  self 
centered,  isolated,  a  worm  in  the  ground,  having  its 
belongings  there  and  not  in  the  element  of  day. 

Is  there  now  any  such  supernatural  sense  existing 
under  suppression  in  the  soul,  as  the  statement  I  have 
made  supposes?  The  question  is  a  very  great,  and  is 
getting  to  be  the  almost  only  question  for  our  day. 

To  go  over  the  evidence  briefly,  there  is  obviously 
nothing  impossible  in  the  fact  of  such  a  sense.  There 
may  as  well  be  a  power  to  cognize  immaterial,  super- 
natural being,  as  material. 

Keither  is  it  any  thing,  that  our  philosophers  recog 
nize  no  such  higher  ranges  of  faculty.  No  faculty  is 
ever  recognized,  save  as  it  comes  into  consciousness  by 
use.  That  which  is  shut  up,  therefore,  can  be  nothing 
to  philosophy.  When  the  lantern  of  a  light-house  has 
no  light  burning  within,  it  will  be  an  opaque  body  at 
the  top,  as  it  is  in  the  base  below — even  the  transparency 
will  be  opaque. 

But  we  can  affirm,  I  think,  with  confidence,  for  one 
distinct  argument,  that  there  ought  to  be  just  this  upper 
world  of  supernatural  insight  in  souls.  As  they  are  re- 
lated to  God,  there  ought  to  be  a  power  of  immediate 
knowledge,  in  which  he  is  revealed — they  require,  in 
fact,  to  be  as  truly  conscious  of  God  as  of  themselves; 
for  God  is  the  complement  of  their  being,  and  without 
him  they  only  half  exist.  Again,  as  they  are  related 
to  eternal  society  with  all  good  beings,  they  ought  also 
to  have  powers  of  discerning  that  may  apprehend  them. 
In  this  manner,   as   they  are   not   made   to   be   mere 


HEAVEN    OPENED.        .  441 

plodders,  however  intelligent,  or  scientific  in  distin- 
guishing the  laws  and  causes  of  things,  but  to  have 
their  summits  and  supreme  destinies  of  life,  in  their 
commerce  with  God,  and  the  supernatural  society  of  his 
realm,  their  fit  equipment  requires,  obviously  enough, 
a  higher  sense  opening  towards  the  supernatural.  How 
can  the  understanding,  operating  on  the  subject  matter 
of  sense,  discover,  or  attain,  by  mere  inference,  what 
is  not  in  the  premises  of  sense,  but  in  a  totally  different 
range?  Whoever  then  adheres  to  immortality  and  re- 
ligion, and  denies  the  credibility  of  what  is  supernatural, 
confesses,  at  once,  that  he  wants  the  commerce  of  God's 
universal  societ}^,  and  cuts  off  the  possibility  of  finding 
it. 

Again,  there  not  only  ought  to  be  aspirations  in  the 
soul,  and  powers  of  sensing  for  the  supernatural,  but  we 
can  see,  by  many  signs,  m^ore  or  less  definite,  that  there 
are.  Sometimes  a  groping  will  signify  as  much  as  an 
open  discovery,  and  what  has  the  race  been  doing,  in 
all  the  past  ages  and  everywhere,  but  groping  after 
gods,  and  demons,  and  populating  even  the  earth  and 
the  sky  with  mythologic  creations.  It  is  as  if  some  di- 
vine phrenzy  were  in  them,  goading  them  on  after  what 
-they  so  mightily  want.  Little,  indeed,  do  they  discover 
of  what  is  real  and  true;  they  only  go  a  marveling,  as 
the  phrenologists  would  say,  carried  off  from  the  mere 
plane  of  reason,  by  they  know  not  wliat.  They  grope 
with  their  eyes  shut,  and  their  groping  signifies  more 
than  their  discoveries.  I  think  also  that  we  can  find, 
every  one  of  us,  in  ourselves,  dim  yearnings,  imagina 


442  HEAVEN    OPENED. 

tions  coasting  round  unknown  realms,  guesses  asking 
after  the  commerce  of  good  and  great  beings,  that  put 
us  in  profound  sympathy  with  them.  Nothing  will  ac- 
count for  what  we  find  thus  in  ourselves  and  the  world, 
but  the  fact  of  supernatural  longings  and  perceptions, 
txisting  in  us  under  suppression.  Indeed,  I  think  we 
should  very  nearly  suffocate,  all  of  us,  including  even 
the  infidel  deniers,  shut  down  close  under  nature  and 
her  causes.  After  all,  we  do  think  higher  things,  and 
there  is  more  comfort  in  it  than  perhaps  we  know. 

We  are  able,  again,  to  conceive  certain  things  about 
this  supernatural  sense,  taking  in  supernatural  things 
and  beings,  which  makes  it  seem  less  extravagant.  To 
say  that  we  can  sense,  or  could,  other  ranges  of  being, 
and  have  them  in  the  open  heaven  of  the  soul,  appears 
to  be  violent,  or  extravagant.  Just  as  violent  is  it  still 
to  say,  that  we  do  take  in  the  world  of  matter  by  the 
natural  senses,  and  have  it  in  us,  even  from  the  sky 
downward.  We  do  not  go  to  things  in  our  perception 
of  them,  neither  do  they  come  locally  to  us ;  the  lati- 
tudes, and  longitudes,  and  altitudes,  are  still  there ;  we 
do  not  spread  ourselves  in  presence  upon  them;  and 
yet  we  somehow  have  them  in  us,  and  subjectively  pos- 
sess them.  Besides,  in  the  relation  of  spirits  and  beings 
supernatural,  we  know  not  by  what  presences  and  reve- 
lations they  may  come  within  the  precincts  of  knowl- 
edge ;  as  little  by  what  fences  they  are  kept  asunder. 
Place  in  this  matter  may  be  nothing,  congenialities 
every  thing.  It  does  not  surprise  us  that  the  bad 
3hould  somehow  come  upon  the  bad ;  as  little  should 


HEAVEN    OPENED.  443 

it,  that  the  good  have  a  way  of  social  presence  with  the 
good.  Perhaps,  too,  it  will  relieve  the  aspect  of  extrava- 
gance here,  if  I  say,  that  faith  is  nothing  but  the  open- 
ing of  the  supernatural  sense  of  the  soul  on  the  super- 
natural being  to  be  apprehended.  It  opens,  in  other 
words,  the  heaven  of  the  mind,  and  God,  and  Christj 
and  the  good  supernatural  society  press  in  to  fill  it. 
Faith  is  the  evidence,  in  this  manner,  even  as  the  scrip- 
tures declare,  of  things  not  seen,  and  the  substance,  or 
substantiation,  of  things  hoped  for.  There  is  even  a 
kind  of  faitli  in  the  sensing  of  sight,  turning  mere  im- 
ages, in  the  eye,  to  things,  and  making  them  real.  That 
there  is  a  higher  sense,  realizing  beings  supernatural,  is 
a  fact  every  way  correspondent. 

Furthermore  it  is  a  fact  well  attested,  in  all  ages,  and 
proved  by  manifold  experience,  that  minds  do  con- 
sciously approximate  God  and  the  heavenly  society, 
accordingly  as  they  are  turned  away  from  evil  and  set 
open  to  good.  They  feel  a  certain  nearness  to  beings 
and  worlds  supernatural,  that  amounts  to  society  begun. 
And  then  how  very  often,  as  their  affinities  are  more 
completely  fined  and  set  open,  do  they,  in  their  last 
hours,  hail  the  Saviour  present,  and  good  angels  re- 
vealed, and  departed  friends  whom  they  salute  by 
name,  waiting  to  receive  them.  Doubtless  all  such 
things  will  be  set  down  as  the  illusions  of  their  wander- 
ing faculty,  but  what  if  they  should  happen  to  be  true 
— even  the  truest  truths  ever  beheld  by  them,  and  most 
profoundly  wanted  by  us  all  ? 

I  will  only  add  that  the  scriptures  constantly  assume^ 


444  HEAVEN    OPENED. 

and  in  many  ways  assert,  the  fact  of  a  supernatural 
sense  in  souls,  that  is  shut  up  and  requires  to  be  opened. 
Christ  declares  this  truth  again  and  again,  as,  for  in- 
stance, when  he  says,  "  For  this  people's  heart  is  waxed 
gross,  and  their  ears  are  dull  of  hearing,  and  their  eyes 
have  they  closed,  lest  at  any  time  they  should  see  with 
their  eyes,  and  hear  with  their  ears,  and  understand 
with  their  heart."  He  does  not  say  this  of  the  natural 
senses  and  judgments,  but  of  the  higher  perceptions  of 
the  heart,  or  the  religious  and  spiritual  man.  The  same 
thing  also  is  very  deliberately  and  carefully  put  by  the 
apostle,  when  he  says — "  But  the  natural  man  receiveth 
not  the  things  of  the  Spirit  of  God,  neither  can  he  know 
them,  because  they  are  spiritually  discerned.  But  he 
that  is  spiritual  judgeth  all  things."  There  is,  in  other 
words,  a  natural  man  and  a  spiritual,  a  lower  range  of 
perception  and  a  higher ;  and  by  this  latter  only,  set 
open  to  the  light,  can  the  spiritual  and  supernatural 
things  of  God  be  discerned  and  judged.  And  this  is 
the  supernatural  sense  of  which  I  have  been  speaking, 
the  upper  range  of  faculty  that  belongs  to  religion,  pre- 
pared for  a  seeing  of  the  invisible.  By  this  it  was  that 
Christ  expected  to  be  in  the  soul's  inward  beholding,  as 
when  he  said — "  but  ye  see  me."  By  this  it  was  that  a 
whole  heaven  of  being  and  society  is  conceived  to  reveal 
tself  to  souls,  when  they  are  converted  and  set  open  to 
God — "But  ye  are  come  unto  mount  Zion,  the  city  of 
the  living  God,  the  heavenly  Jerusalem,  and  to  an  in 
numerable  company  of  angels,  and  to  the  general  assem- 
oly  and  church  of  the  first-born  which  arc  written   in 


HEAVEN    OPENED.  <14o 

heaven,  and  to  God  the  Judge  of  all,  and  to  the  spirits 
of  jnst  men  made  perfect."  And  so  glorious  anil  clear 
was  their  inward  beholding,  at  times,  that  one  disciple 
seemed  to  be  caught  up  into  some  "  third  heaven  "  by 
it,  though  the  heaven,  as  he  well  understood,  waa 
within.  Another  also  declared,  as  in  vision,  "I  see 
heaven  opened,"  and  though  he  "looked  steadfastly 
up  "  at  the  time,  it  was  only  that  altitude  is  the  natural 
language,  or  line  of  direction,  in  such  inward  exaltations 
So  intensely  perceptive,  according  to  the  scripture  view 
may  a  human  soul  become,  when  awakened  inwardly 
and  drawn  out  in  its  higher  apprehensions,  after  those  in 
visible,  supernatural  associations  for  which  it  is  created 

Assuming  now  the  fact  of  a  supernatural  sense  in 
souls,  which  is  shut  up  by  sin,  we  are  next  to  consider — • 

II.  How  Christ,  as  he  declares  to  Nathanael,  will 
open  this  suppressed  faculty,  and  make  it  the  organ,  or 
inlet,  of  universal  society. 

And  here  it  will  be  remembered,  that  angelic  visita- 
tions had  been  coursing  back  and  forth  upon  the  world 
and  through  it,  in  all  ages,  both  before  Christ's  coming, 
and  at  his  coming,  and  after.  Moses  had  gone  up  into 
the  mount  and  brought  down  tables  lettered,  as  it  \\ere, 
m  heaven.  Fires  had  been  kindled,  from  above,  in  sac- 
rifices offered  on  rocks,  and  altars  of  turf.  Two  holy 
men  had  been  visibly  translated.  And  yet  heaven  still 
appears  to  be  somehow  shut.  The  angels — not  ascend- 
ing and  descending,  but  descending  and  ascending — are 
thought  of  only  as  having  gone  away,  to  some  invisible 

38 


4-i6  HEAVEN    OPENfiD. 

nowhere  whence  thej  came.  The  great  public  miracles 
only  help  the  chosen  people  to  believe  in  a  kind  of  Jew- 
God  reigning  under  limitations,  and  holding  their  little 
patch  of  territory  for  his  field.  Instead  of  catching  the 
Lint  from  so  many  wonders,  and  so  many  bright  visi- 
tants^ of  a  world  above  the  world,  waiting  to  receive 
them  in  eternal  society,  it  even  makes  them  angry  to 
hear,  that  God  will  include,  in  one  circle  of  being,  all 
that  come  to  him  on  earth.  A  holy  few  find  real  ac- 
cess to  the  king,  led  in,  to  his  seat,  by  the  teachings  of 
their  prophets  and  the  more  secret  teachings  of  the 
Spirit.  But  it  is  a  most  singular  fact  that  no  one  of 
these,  no  dying  saint  most  enlightened  by  holy  experi- 
ence, speaks,  in  these  former  ages,  of  going  to  heaven, 
or  even  of  there  being  a  heavenly  world  where  righteous 
souls  are  gathered ;  unless  it  be  that  one  or  two  expres- 
sions of  the  prophets  are  to  be  taken  in  that  sense. 
Many  critics  therefore  have  denied,  that  there  is  any 
revelation  of  immortality,  or  a  second  life,  before  Christ's 
coming.  And  we  know  that,  when  he  came,  it  was  even 
an  open  question,  whether  any  such  being  as  ''  angel  or 
spirit"  really  exists? 

If  now  any  one  should  ask  what  this  means — how  the 
world  above  seems  to  be  already  opened  if  it  ever  can 
be,  and  yet  is  shut  ? — the  answer  is,  that  all  this  appari- 
tional  machinery  goes  on  without,  before  men's  eyes, 
while  the  heaven  of  the  soul  is  shut;  and  that  so  many 
angels  therefore,  coming  and  going,  are  looked  upoD 
only  as  ghosts  of  the  fancy,  or  at  least  mere  outsiders 
and  strangers.     They  do  not  st-ay  to  be  citizens,  they 


HEAVEN    OPENED.  447 

are  seen  only  as  in  transiiu ;  they  flit  across  the  stage 
and  are  gone — gone,  as  many  will  think,  to  the  same 
blind  nowhere  that  receives  all  phantasms. 

Here  then  is  the  deeper  work  Christ  undertakes  to 
do ;  viz.,  to  open  the  heaven  of  the  soul  itself,  or,  what 
is  nowise  different,  to  weaken  in  it  that  higher  sense,  by 
which  it  m.ay  discern  the  supernatural  being  and  society 
of  God's  realm.  How  he  does  it  we  shall  hardly  be  at 
a  loss  to  find. 

First,  he  comes  into  the  world  himself,  not  appari- 
tionally,  like  an  irruption  of  angels,  but  he  comes  up,  so 
to  speak,  out  of  humanity,  emerging  into  his  visibly 
divine  glory,  through  a  glorious  and  perfect  manhood. 
And  so  it  comes  to  pass  that,  while  they  accomplish 
nothing  by  their  character,  and  have,  in  fact,  no  char- 
acter beyond  what  is  implied  in  their  message,  he  is 
bringing  on  his  wonderful,  visibly  divine  manhood,  and 
becoming,  by  force  of  his  mere  supernatural  character 
alone,  the  greatest  miracle  of  time — with  the  advantage 
that,  being  self-evident,  even  as  the  sun,  all  other  mira- 
cle is  upheld  by  it.  At  first  he  appears  to  be  only  a 
man  among  men,  the  Son  of  Mary,  growing  up  in  the 
mold  and  mortal  weakness  of  a  man ;  but  his  life  un- 
folds silently  and  imperceptibly,  till  the  magnificent 
proportions  of  his  Godhood  begin  to  appear  in  his  man- 
hood, and  the  tremendous  fact  is  revealed,  that  a  being 
from  above  the  world  is  living  in  it!  Supernatural 
event  and  character  are  built  in  solidly  thus,  into  the 
world's  history,  to  be  an  integral  part  of  it.  Mere  nature 
is  no  longer  all,  and  never  can  b^  again.     The  \Qr-y  world 


■^48  HEAVEN    OPENED. 

has  another  world  interfused  and  working  jointly  witt 
it. 

He  comes  too  in  no  light  figure,  but  in  the  heavy 
tread  of  one  that  bears  eternal  government  upon  hia 
shoulder — comes  to  reconcile  the  world,  to  justify,  and 
gather,  and  pacifj^,  and  save,  the  world ;  "  For  it  pleased 
the  Father  that  in  him  should  all  fullness  dwell,  and 
having  made  peace  by  the  blood  of  his  cross,  by  him  to 
reconcile  all  unto  himself,  whether  they  be  things  in 
earth  or  things  in  heaven."  Everlasting  order  hangs 
tremulous  in  expectation  round  his  cross,  and  eternity 
rings  out  from  it,  tolling  in  the  world.  As  the  veil  of 
the  temple  is  rent,  so  the  way  into  the  holiest  opens. 
As  the  dead  are  shaken  from  their  graves  when  he  dies, 
so  the  souls  shut  up  in  death  are  loosened  from  the 
senses,  to  behold  the  new-sprung  day.  The  middle 
wall  is  now  broken  down,  the  dividing  isthmus  cut 
through,  and  things  in  heaven,  and  things  in  earth,  are 
set  in  a  common  headship  in  his  person.  Heaven  is 
become  an  open  door  which  no  man  shutteth,  an  abund- 
ant and  free  entrance  is  ministered,  that  we  may  entci 
with  boldness  into  the  holiest. 

It  is  a  great  j)oint  also,  as  regards  the  impression 
effected,  that  every  thing  taught  by  him,  in  his  doc- 
trine, holds  the  footing  of  immortahty  and  eternity, 
looking  towards  a  higher  and  relatively  supernatural 
state.  Nothing  is  allowed  to  stop  short,  within  the 
boundaries  of  time,  as  in  the  old  religion.  The  very 
law  of  God  is  carried  forward  into  spiritual  applications ; 
the  temporal  and  outward  sanctions  are  taken  away,  an  (J 


HEAVEN    OPENED.  449 

the  inmost  principle  of  dutj  under  it  is  enforced  by  the 
tremendous  allotments  of  a  future,  everlasting  state. 
Outward  sacrifices  and  remissions  will  not  answer. 
There  mast  be  a  sacrifice  that  purges  even  the  con- 
scieuce  itself  There  must  be  a  righteousness  found, 
that  exceeds  the  righteousness  of  the  Scribes  and  Phari- 
sees— even  the  righteousness  of  God.  Every  thing  in 
the  doctrine  out-reaches  nature  and  time,  piercing  even 
to  the  dividing  asunder,  and  stirring  all  the  inmost 
senses,  sentiments,  and  fears  of  the  religious  nature. 
Not  that  any  mere  standards,  or  sanctions,  can  force 
open  the  shut  heaven  of  souls ;  but  that,  by  these  things, 
grinding  hard  upon  the  supernatural  sense,  it  is  made 
to  feel  a  reverberative  movement  of  the  powers  of  the 
world  to  come,  and  look  in,  through  the  rifts  that  are 
opened  in  the  stony  casement  that  surrounds  it. 

Let  us  not  imagine  now  that,  by  any  or  all  these 
things,  the  supernatural  sense,  or  heaven  of  the  soul,  ia 
really  opened.  These  are  preparations,  all,  including 
even  the  cross  itself — powers  that  move  on  our  consent, 
but  without  that  consent  accomplish  no  result.  Nothing 
done  will  ever  accomplish  that  result  with  many ;  they 
will  go  to  their  graves  denying  that  any  such  upper 
^voi-ld  of  faculty  is  in  them.  But  with  some  it  will  be 
otherwise;  they  will  respond,  they  will  believe,  and 
tlieir  faith  will  be  the  opening  of  heaven.  In  that  faith 
the  Son  of  Man  will  be  revealed,  and  the  angels  of  God 
ascending  and  descending  upon  him.  But  this  faith,  in 
BtiU  another  view,  is  love,  and  here  we  have  the  grand 
finality.     Christ  and  his  cross  are  a  movement  on  the 

38'^ 


4:50  HEAVEN    OPENED. 

world's  love,  and  love  itself  is  the  higher  sense,  or  ap- 
prehending power  of  the  soul.  Love  is  perceptive; 
whatever  is  loved  is  most  really  known,  or  discovered. 
He  tliat  loveth  knoweth  God,  and,  in  that  manner,  he 
that  loveth  universal  society  knoweth  universal  so- 
ciet)'.  Worlds  above  the  world  are  present  to  the  sense 
C'f  love.  All  the  immense  longings  of  souls  after  uni- 
versal society  are  consummated  and  crowned,  when 
they  are  issued  in  love.  And  this  is  the  opening  of  the 
soul,  this  the  state  and  character  which  are  its  heaven — 
the  kingdom  of  God  wdthin. 

And  what  a  finding  of  the  soul  will  it  be!  what  a 
sublime  privity  of  knowledge  will  it  reveal!  when 
Christ,  as  in  the  promise  made  to  Nathanael,  shall  have 
made  it  conscious  eternally,  in  this  manner,  of  the  para- 
dise hid  in  its  own  higher  faculty,  so  long  shut  up  and 
suppressed. 

Some  very  important  consequences  follow,  in  the  train 
of  the  subject  thus  presented,  and  with  these  I  conclude. 

1.  The  real  merit  of  the  issue  made  up  between  Christ 
and  the  naturalizing  critics  of  his  gospels  is  here  dis- 
tinctly shown.  Professing  much  respect  to  his  character, 
they  are  offended  by  the  supernatural  matters  reported 
in  his  life,  and  set  themselves  at  work  to  produce  a  new 
Christianity,  without  either  miracle  or  mystery,  or  more 
than  natural  fact  in  it — and,  of  course,  without  even 
Christ  himself,  who  is  the  greatest  miracle  of  all. 
Christ,  on  the  other  hand,  undertakes  to  give  them, 
over  and   above   the    supernatural  facts    they   reject^ 


HJhiAVEN    OPENED.  451 

supernatural  evidences ;  viz.,  to  set  open  a  higher  range 
of  faculty  in  tliem  related  to  himself  and  all  supernatu- 
ral beings,  and  so  to  find  them  at  the  point  of  deeper 
sentiments  and  apprehensions  in  their  nature,  than  they 
are  themselves  aware  of.  They  do  not  even  imagine, 
that  they  have  any  thing  included  in  their  nature,  above 
the  mere  basement  story  so  much  investigated  and  mag- 
nified by  the  philosophers ;  viz.,  reason,  memory,  imag- 
ination, affectional  capacities  and  the  like,  including, 
perhaps,  a  merely  moral,  in  distinction  from  a  religious, 
conscience ;  practically  ignoring,  because  they  are  shut, 
the  sublime  upper  ranges  of  their  spiritual  nature — their 
transcendent  affinities  prepared  for  immense  supernat 
ural  relations,  their  capacities  to  apprehend  what  is 
above  the  test  of  mere  intellectual  judgments,  divine 
being,  viz.,  and  concourse,  and  the  flow  and  reflow  of 
God's  universal  society.  The  heaven  of  their  nature 
being  shut,  and  the  supernatural  sense  practically  un- 
discovered, they  proceed  to  bring  the  great  questions  of 
the  gospels  down  for  trial  before  the  basement  court  of 
their  criticism ;  where  it  results,  that  having  made  their 
souls  small  enough  for  their  doctrine,  they  have  no 
great  difficulty  in  making  their  doctrine  small  enough 
for  their  souls. 

They  are  men  of  high  talent,  if  any  talent  is  high 
m  the  lower  ranges  only  of  the  nature,  they  are  some 
of  them  scholars  specially  advanced  in  their  culture,  but 
talent  and  scholarship  are,  alas,  how  pitiably  shriveled 
in  their  figure,  when  they  undertake  to  handle  the 
questions  of  religion,  without  so  much  as  a  couceptioD 


452  HEAVEN     OPLNED. 

of  the  inherently  supernatural  relations  and  discerning 
powers  of  the  religious  mind.  Wh}^,  the  humble,  guile- 
less Nathanaels,  who  never  had  a  speculation  in  their 
lives,  but  have  the  heaven  of  their  faith  set  open,  and 
have  found  the  Son  of  Man  deep  set  in.  the  heart's  own 
center,  have  a  better  competence  in  the  supernatural 
than  Hennel,  or  Parker,  or  Strauss,  or  Renan,  or  than 
all  these  brilliant  gospel  extirpators  together.  No,  gen- 
tlemen, Christ  did  not  come  to  be  approved  before  the 
tribunal  of  your  mere  logic,  or  lore,  or  critical  acumen, 
but  before  a  nobler  and  more  competent,  which,  though 
it  be  in  you,  is  yet  hidden  from  you.  Having  a  nature 
boundlessly  related  to  the  supernatural,  flowering  never^ 
save  in  the  knowledge  and  concourse  of  supernatural 
society,  you  put  your  critical  extinguishers  on  it  and 
stifle  it,  and  then  you  can  even  triumph  in  the  discovery 
that  all  you  most  sublimely  want  is  incredible — scien- 
tifically impossible !  Hardly  could  you  make  yourselves 
a  more  fit  mark  for  Christian  pity ;  for,  with  all  your 
fine  stores  of  learning,  you  are  in  fact  the  least  knowing 
men  of  your  day.  Would  that  Christ  might  only  find 
you,  in  that  glorious  opening  of  the  nature  of  which  he 
speaks ;  what  a  revelation  would  it  be — and,  first  of  all, 
because  it  would  be  a  revelation  so  wonderful  of  your- 
selves ! 

You  assume  that  you  can  settle  questions  of  being,  or 
not  being — supernatural  being,  or  not  being — by  logic, 
and  criticism,  and  the  processes  of  the  head,  even  as  you 
do  questions  of  thought,  or  idea.  Can  you  then  reason 
a  rock,  as  being  or  not  being,  in  that  manner  ?     ISTo, 


HEAVEN    OPENED.  453 

you  will  answer;  subjects  of  being  can  not,  in  the  first 
instance,  be  thought  or  reasoned,  they  can  only  be 
cognized,  or  perceived,  by  the  senses.  And  so  it  is  of 
all  supernatural  being,  God,  angels,  worlds  above  the 
world,  universal  society ;  they  are  known  only  as  they 
are  cognized,  by  the  supernatural  sensing  of  the  spiritual 
man  ;  or,  what  is  nowise  different,  by  faith.  And  when 
it  is  done,  they  are  had  in  as  complete  evidence  even  aja 
the  solids  of  matter.  I  do  not  undertake  to  say  what 
particular  facts  of  the  gospel  will,  or  will  not  be  proved 
in  this  manner,  but  only  that  nothing  will  be  rejected, 
because  it  is  supernatural.  The  soul  will  be  going  after 
things  supernatural  and  the  commerce  of  the  supernatu- 
ral society,  because  it  is  practically  open  to  their  con- 
course. Here  then  is  Christ,  on  one  side,  contriving 
how  to  open  this  immense  upper  world  of  the  soul,  and 
you,  on  your  side,  protesting  that  there  is  not,  and  must 
not  be,  any  such  upper  world  in  you.  He  would  make 
the  soul  a  sky-full  of  glorious  and  blessed  concourse, 
and  you  set  yourselves  to  it,  as  a  problem  worthy  of 
your  industrj^,  to  make  it  a  cavern !  His  work  may  be 
a  hard  one,  but  yours  will  be  much  harder.  The 
emptiness  of  j^our  cavern  will  ring  back  answers, 
stronger  to  most  men,  after  all,  than  your  arguments. 
For  heaven  is  as  much  a  necessity  to  men  as  bread,  and 
souls  can  no  more  live  without  the  supernatural,  than 
the  senses  without  matters  of  sense.  In  the  same  way — 
2.  We  have  given  back  to  us,  here,  the  most  solid, 
only  sufficient  proof  of  our  immortality.  How  often  do 
we  stagger  at  this  point,  even  the  best  of  us.     All  mere 


454:  HEAVEN    OPENED. 

rational  arguments,  here,  fall  quite  short  of  the  mark 
They  never  established  any  body.  And  yet  every  man 
ought  to  know  his  immortality,  even  as  he  knows  that 
he  is  alive.  He  is  made,  to  have  an  immediate,  self- 
asserting  consciousness  of  immortality,  and  would  never 
have  a  doubt  of  it,  if  he  had  not  shut  up  and  darkened 
the  divine  side  of  the  soul.  And  for  just  the  same 
reason,  Christ,  when  he  opens  the  soul,  opens  immor- 
tality also.  What  was  so  dimly  revealed,  under  the  old 
religion,  stands  out  visible  everywhere  under  the  new. 
There  is  no  room  here  for  a  Sadducee  to  live.  The 
metropolis  of  the  world  is  here  in  Christ's  person,  and 
the  visitants  of  all  unknown  spheres  crowd  about  him, 
ascending  and  descending  upon  him.  And  they  are  all 
certified  to  our  faith,  by  his  supernatural  character. 
We  grow  familiar  thus  with  spirit,  realize  it,  and  know  it 
in  ourselves.  Immortality !  why  the  dead  Christ  proves 
it.  And  again  the  resurrection  proves  it ;  for  what  could 
such  a  being  do  but  rise  ?  It  would  even  be  a  greater 
wonder  if  he  did  not.  Away  to  their  native  abyss  fly 
all  our  doubts — life  and  immortality  are  brought  to 
light  through  the  gospel !     It  only  remains — 

3.  To  note  precisely,  as  we  can  at  no  other  point  of 
view,  the  meaning  of  salvation,  or  the  saving  of  souls. 
Christ  does  not  undertake  to  save  them  as  they  are — 
only  half  existing  in  the  plane  of  nature.  Do  we  call  it 
saving  the  hand,  that  we  save  it  in  all  but  the  fingers? 
Is  it  saving  an  eye,  that  we  save  it  in  all  but  the  sight  ? 
Do  we  save  a  tree,  when  we  save  the  stump  and  the 
roots,  and  not  the  leafy  crown  of  shade  and  flower  ? 


HEAVEN    OPENED.  455 

No  more  is  it  sa\  ing  a  soul  to  save  the  economic  under- 
work only  of  opinion,  judgment,  memory,  and  the  like. 
These  are  not  the  soul,  and  if  we  take  them  to  be,  we 
only  come  as  near  saying,  as  possible,  that  the  soul  is 
gone  already.  And  it  is  in  just  this  condition  that 
Christ  finds  us — 0,  that  he  might  also  find  us  in  the 
deeper  sense  of  his  promise !  He  comes  to  the  soul  as 
having  a  whole  heaven  hid  in  its  possibilities,  which 
heaven  is  shut  up,  which  possibilities  are  even  ignored 
and  hid.  He  finds  it  made  little,  a  fire  almost  gone  out. 
Belated  constitutionally  to  a  vast  supernatural  society, 
and  to  ranges  of  life  and  knowledge,  as  much  broader 
than  all  causes  and  laws  of  the  world,  as  eternity  is 
broader  than  time,  he  undertakes  to  open  it  again  upon 
its  true  field,  relieve  the  pinch  of  its  compression,  give 
it  enlargement,  and  make  it  truly  live.  Whatever  man 
of  opinion,  taking  on  the  airs  of  science,  tells  him  that 
his  gospel  is  incredible  because  it  is  supernatural,  will 
get  no  answer,  but  that  his  soul  is  very  nearly  gone  out 
already,  and  is  wanting  simply  salvation.  And  just  here 
it  is  that  the  soul  gets  such  an  immense  lifting  of  pitch, 
and  outspreading  of  dimensions,  when  it  comes  to 
Christ.  The  coming  unto  Christ  is,  in  another  view, 
Christ  coming  unto  it  and  being  revealed  in  it.  Even 
as  the  apostle  says — "When  it  pleased  God  to  reveal 
his  Son  in  me."  And  what  a  revelation  was  it  to  him  I 
— as  great  proportionally  to  all  who  receive  it.  It  is  as 
if  they  had  gotten  a  new  soul,  with  a  heaven-full  of 
society  gathered  round  the  Son  of  Man  there  revealed. 
Therefore  it  is  called  "the  new  man  ;"  not  because  it  is 


4:56  HEAVEN    OPENED. 

new,  for  it  is  older  even  tlian  the  old  man  put  away, 
being  ilie  original,  normal  man  of  Paradise,  hitherto 
stifled  and  suppressed ;  still  it  is  new,  all  things  are 
new.  The  change  is  so  great  as  to  be  sometimes  even 
bewildering.  It  is  as  if  some  wondrous,  unknown  light 
bad  broken  in;  the  whole  skj  is  luminous.  The  soul 
is  in  day ;  for  the  day  has  dawned  and  the  day-star  is 
risen.  God,  eternity,  immortality,  universal  love  and 
society — into  these  broad  ranges  it  has  come,  and  in 
these  it  is  free,  having  them  all  for  its  element  and  its 
conversation  in  them,  as  in  heaven.  The  unknowing 
state,  the  old,  blank  ignorance  that  was,  because  of  the 
blindness  of  the  heart,  is  gone ;  and  a  wondrous  knowl- 
edge opens  because  the  heart  can  see.  Before  it  was  a 
doubter  possibly,  mighty  in  opinion,  wise  in  the  wisdom 
of  this  world,  pleased  with  its  own  questions  and 
reasons,  now  it  has  come  up  where  the  light  is,  and  the 
old  questions  and  reasons  do  not  mean  any  thing — the 
judgments  of  moles,  in  matters  of  astronomy,  are  as 
good.  0,  what  strength,  and  majesty,  and  general 
height  of  being,  are  felt  in  the  new  life  begun !  And 
this  is  salvation !  great  because  it  saves,  not  some  small 
part  of  the  soul,  but  because  it  saves  and  glorifies  the 
sublime  whole;  restoring  its  integrity  and  proportion, 
and  setting  it  complete  in  God's  own  order,  as  in  ever- 
lasting life.  Who  could  wish  it  to  do  less?  who  could 
ask  it  to  do  more? 


g.cal  Seminary-Speer  L.brar: 


1    1012  01147  5300 


Date  Due 

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N  22  '9 

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